


multiples of the same

by cartoonheart



Category: Grey's Anatomy
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-19
Updated: 2020-03-04
Packaged: 2020-03-08 04:18:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 30,917
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18887035
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cartoonheart/pseuds/cartoonheart
Summary: an assortment of Merluca drabbles from tumblr prompt requests





	1. everything we have is all we need

**Author's Note:**

> I thought it might be a good idea to post all my responses to the Merluca prompts I receive via tumblr in one place. So if you follow me on tumblr (or the Merluca tag), you may have come across these before. 
> 
> I'll continue to post them on tumblr, but I'll also cross post them here, just so that they are all tidy and neat, and in one easily accessible place, going forward.
> 
> They are all individual stories, but all Merluca.
> 
> If you want to send me a prompt, you can do that [here](https://cartoon-heart.tumblr.com/ask). If you want to read them on tumblr, you will find them [here](https://cartoon-heart.tumblr.com/tagged/comment+fic).

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: a jealous DeLuca or Meredith
> 
> Title of chapter from ["Wow" by Snow Patrol.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JaWdz4sjyWI)

There’s a scrub nurse who is flirting with Meredith Grey’s boyfriend.

And Meredith’s not usually the possessive type, it’s not really her style. She’d rather be cool and noncommittal, but something about this situation really grates on her.

She can’t blame Andrew. If anything, he’s just being himself. Friendly, open, and not even a bit flirtatious. But Meredith’s got eyes, knows how other women look at him, and in this case, she can see exactly what this scrub nurse is doing.

Helena. Her name is Helena. It’s the sort of name that Meredith would’ve given one of her dolls when she was six years old. But in this case, the real live thing is in front of her, and is laughing with her boyfriend.

She ignores it. Because she’s god damn Meredith Grey, and this isn’t her.

\---

Andrew notices her taking his hand more often as they leave the hospital. He’s not sure why, but he’s not going to complain about being seen on the arm of Meredith Grey, all-around wonder woman and surgical superhero.

She’s been a little off lately, although not in a bad way. In fact, she’s actually being more tactile with him than ever before. It’s surprising because she’s always insisted that things were professional at the hospital, but now she leans close and lets her hand ghost across his back as she leaves a room, and so Andrew’s going to enjoy whatever’s come over her while he can.

\---

He comes into the cafeteria one day, and folds his frame into the chair next to her. He’s nursing a takeaway coffee in one hand, and in the other is a beautifully decorated cupcake.

“That looks delicious,” she sighs, almost envious. Her lunch consists of a rather beaten up looking sandwich and a sad looking banana. “Where did you get that?”

She expects him to say a patient, or from the bakery down the road. But he doesn’t.

“Helena gave it to me.”

He’s too focused on peeling off the paper from one side to notice the look she shoots him. She realises he could’ve lied if he thought there was anything that he needed to lie about. So she’s trying really hard not to be annoyed about something that he doesn’t even realise she has a problem with.

“Helena?” Nevertheless, she can’t help the snarl that curls around the name, and as much as Meredith wants to be the bigger person, it’s too late.

His eyes glance over at her and narrow. “Meredith?” His tone is laced with suspicion, and she can see the wheels in his brain turning.

“It’s nothing,” she huffs, and she knows she’s being childish, but somehow she can’t help herself. “Forget it. I’ve got to go.”

Before he can say another word, she stalks off.

\---

It’s later in the day, and she’s still silently fuming. It’s stupid, she knows. She trusts him implicitly, knows he’s not the type of man to be swayed by baked goods, as delicious as they might be. But she also feels a bit annoyed - at herself, for sure. And also a bit at him - for either his naivety, or his utter blindness. He’s a smart guy, usually. He should be able to see this situation for what it is.

In her simmering fury, she doesn’t notice he’s appeared in front of her, leaning down over the counter of the nurse’s station. He looks stern, an expression she’s not used to.

“Come with me,” he states, and it’s a firm request, not a question, and although she doesn’t want to just comply to please him, her feet follow anyway. He herds her into the nearest on call room and locks the door.

On any other occasion, she’d know what that means. But today, judging by his expression, it’s something else entirely.

“Do you want to tell me what that was about earlier?” He folds his arms across his chest, and waits. The sternness from before has lifted a little, he seems more bemused now than anything. There’s a spark in his eye that tells her he isn’t really mad at all, more curious.

She doesn’t really want to put her feelings into words. They feel petty and silly, even though she doesn’t think she’s wrong.

“Surely you know,” Meredith retorts instead, hoping that he’s not going to make her spell it out. Thankfully, he knows her enough to realise that it’s the best answer he can expect.

A smile curves at the corner of his mouth, and he takes a step closer to her, unfurls his arms. His hands reach out for her hips, settle there gently. She wants to resist him on principle, but her body still craves his touch.

“Dr. Grey, are you telling me that you’re… jealous?”

In any other situation she might want to kiss that smirk off his face, but at the moment, she really doesn’t like that he’s seen right through her, seen this weakness so plainly.

Instead she sets her jaw, glares him down. Her refusal to answer is an answer in itself - it’s just one that she doesn’t want to admit to. The problem is that Andrew’s learnt how to read her pretty well by now, knows that the fact she’s not immediately denying it is as good as an admission that he’s right.

He smiles, shuffles a little closer again, leans so that he’s impossibly close, his nose brushing hers.

“You don’t have to worry, Meredith.” His voice is deep and low and she tries to suppress the shiver that runs down her spine.

She tips her head back slightly, so that she can see his face better. “Oh, and why’s that?”

“Well,” he murmurs, his head tilting in that way he has, “Helena’s actually dating my sister.” His eyes crease in silent laughter, because Meredith’s sure her face must reflect her embarrassed surprise. “She just likes to bake. The cupcakes were actually for Carina, but she had some extra. If anything, she just wants to win me over so I can give her the sibling seal of approval.”

“Oh.”

“Oh?”

“I thought-”

He stops her. “It’s okay - I know what you thought. And I’m… flattered?”

It’s the same thing she’d said to him at the wedding all those moons ago, and she’s pretty sure he’s done that on purpose. Andrew has a way with words, is always deliberate in his choice of them.

She playfully hits him on the arm, and he’s quick to grab her hand in his. They breathe in unison.

“All okay now?” His voice is calm and his eyes are fixed on hers.

She nods. “All okay.”

“Not jealous anymore?”

Meredith laughs despite herself. “Don’t push your luck.”

He grins back at her, all handsome angles and warmth, eyes soft. “Speaking of pushing my luck, now that I’ve got you in this locked room, all alone, can I interest you in-”

He doesn’t get to finish his question, because her lips are already on his.


	2. all paths lead to a single conclusion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Meredith and Andrew from the 15x22 promo when Andrew gets caught sneaking out of the house by Zola.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was written prior to the episode airing, hence why it doesn't quite work in line with the canon!
> 
> Title of chapter from ["Everything is good for you if it doesn't kill you" by Crowded House.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dYWG97ISG1A)

Meredith stands there in her hallway, her eyes shifting back and forth between him and Zola, trying to register exactly what has happened and all the implications that follow. Her mouth opens, then closes, and she shuffles uncomfortably on the spot.

It’s a sight Andrew thought he’d never see, although he deeply wishes it wasn’t right now, right at _this_ particular moment.

Meredith Grey doesn’t know what to do.

To be fair, neither does he. He’s really waiting for her to react, to say something. But this is uncharted territory for her, for him, for them both. And from what Meredith’s told him, Zola’s smart, sharp - she doesn’t suffer fools, just like her mother. So he stands quietly, waiting, half wishing the ground would swallow him up. He knows, without even having to check, that he should definitely, definitely, not say anything.

“DeLuca!” she barks eventually, and he feels like he should be a soldier standing to attention, maybe even saluting. It’s very much like he’s an intern again, and he’s not sure how to feel about the fact that she’s gone back to referring to him by his surname - not when a few hours ago, she’d been saying his name in a very, _very_ different way.

His eyes meet hers, and something in her face softens. Probably because, judging by the expression he can feel is arranged on his face, he looks stricken and no doubt, a bit upset. He’s not going to pretend he hasn’t thought about meeting Meredith’s children before. He’s thought about it a lot. And in his mind, he makes a great impression - is fun and likeable, and it had been all on Meredith’s terms.

So yeah, this isn’t how he imagined this going - and he’s wondering if he’ll ever quite recover. Looking at Zola’s face, he’s not sure he will.

Meredith blinks at him, and he thinks he sees a hint of apology in her eyes. He can’t say he knows what it is like to be Meredith Grey - always in control, always in charge. But he's learning fast enough of what it is like to be _with_ Meredith Grey, and Andrew can tell she’s deeply unsettled by this whole situation.

She exhales loudly, her hand gripping the door frame next to her. “I’ll see you at work, okay?” she murmurs to him, her gaze briefly sliding back to Zola, who has been watching the scene before her with suspicious curiosity.

He’s being dismissed, and a part of him feels relief. Whatever conversation is going to take place now between mother and daughter, it’s not one that he needs to be privy to - even though he’s deeply invested in its outcome.

He nods once, tries to release the frown that has settled on his brow. He has a million things he wants to say to her before he walks away - but for once he can’t, he has to stay silent. Besides, Meredith’s a great mom, and he knows she’ll handle it in the way she thinks is best. Nevertheless he wants to reassure her that his feelings won’t be hurt if she wants to lie about his presence, about his role in her life. Because as much as he feels for her - and he’s under no illusions that it is quite a lot, a lot more than he’s felt for anyone ever before - he knows things are still new. There are conversations they’ve not had, and as much as he wants to have them someday, he’d rather they weren’t reactive to a situation like this, before she is ready.

He makes his way meekly down the stairs, and he hears murmurs above him. He sighs deeply, and lets himself out the front door. It’s only just becoming light outside, the birds are just starting to chirp softly in the trees that line the road.

There’s a part of him that needs to trust that it will all work out, that this is just a road bump rather than a full on collision. But he’s rattled, he can’t lie. He cares so much - too much - for this not to be a big deal. But he accepts that this is a situation that only Meredith can handle, and really, he is powerless either way. That scares him, even if it is perfectly fair. He respects her and the life she’s built, and that includes any choices she makes about her children, her family.

He’s not going to pretend that the waiting won’t kill him, that he won’t be watching out for her in the corridor as soon as he gets to the hospital later. That he won’t have about four coffees to calm his nerves, even if they have the opposite effect. That he won’t send at least two concerned texts between now and two hours from now.

Because, yes, it matters to him. It matters more than he can possibly say.


	3. the weight of love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: how the Grey's finale (15x25) will be for Merluca

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, I wrote this prior to the episode airing, so it's no longer in line with canon!
> 
> Title of chapter is from ["The Weight of Love" by Snow Patrol](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CfuFwuhOkIY).

Andrew feels sick. Like, stomach-churning, head-crashingly sick.

Despite that, he doesn’t regret what he’s done. He’s got his eyes open to where this goes now: to the loss of his medical licence, his career, his life as he knows it.

And probably her too. That’s the part that hurts most of all.

He’s not sure when his priorities got so muddled, but he’s sitting here alone, feeling his heart hammering in his chest, feeling like he’s going to be getting a lot of time to think about the answer to that question.

The office door flies open, and he turns. It’s Bailey, looking like a thundercloud and he feels like he’s about two foot tall under the look she’s giving him. She closes the door, and stares at him. Like, _really_ stares. Most of the time she’s pretty inscrutable, but Andrew can read her like a book right now. She’s furious. And disappointed. He thinks that’s fair.

“Dr. Bailey-” he starts, before she holds up a hand, and the words die instantly on his tongue.

“You don’t talk,” she’s saying, circling around to stand behind her desk. She doesn’t sit - just glares across at him, and all he can think is that maybe jail would be a bit less tense than the feeling in this room.

He nods, pressing his palms together, intertwining his fingers to try and stop his hands from shaking. A familiar feeling of nausea courses through him again.

Bailey sighs. It’s forceful and loud, and full of exasperation. And then she speaks.

“How could you be so god damn stupid?!”

He’s not sure if the question is rhetorical, but he doesn’t want to risk annoying Bailey even further, even though, let’s be honest, she probably isn’t even his boss anymore - just the woman who is now going to have to fire him and hand over evidence to the police.

Andrew clears his dry throat. “Dr. Bailey, as I said, I wanted Gabby to get the surgery, very badly. So I-”

“Cut the crap, DeLuca!” Bailey’s hands slam down on the desk, and as small as she is, he finds her utterly terrifying. He must look shocked, bewildered, because the instant her eyes meet his, her face softens a little - not a lot, but enough for her to pause, inhale deeply, then exhale.

He waits, bows his head.

She steps out from behind the desk, comes to stand in front of it, in front of him. He sees her shoes appear in his line of vision. He focuses on them, on the carpet underneath.

His shoulders ache, his whole body aches, but then he thinks of Meredith. Thinks of her face, so beautiful, so strong. He thinks of her children, and how much they love their mother. He can do this, he can do this.

He looks up again at Bailey, waits for the onslaught that is surely to come.

Her jaw is clenched, but the words come out clearly enough. “Don’t you think I recognise some foolish, _reckless_ , Meredith Grey _nonsense_ when I see it? Do you think I’m stupid?”

He feels his posture straighten, his hands unclench, his eyes widen.

Bailey raises an eyebrow at him, waits for all the dots that are slowly connecting in his brain to form a picture before she continues.

“Dr. DeLuca, I would say I admire your dedication to your… attending,” she says the last word when they both know perfectly well she means another - girlfriend, partner, love of his damn life - “even though it is also one of the most insane and idiotic things I’ve ever seen done around here. But I’ve been here a long time. And whenever idiotic things happen in this hospital, I’ve found that Meredith Grey is usually not too far behind.”

His mind snaps to attention, because he knows what she trying to say.

Andrew also senses a story here, maybe many stories, but now isn’t the time for questions. He knows Meredith has a past, and that it is layered and complex, but he often forgets that she was an intern too, not always the award wining surgeon she is now, and somehow this reminder of her imperfection only makes him love her more.

“So I’m going to go out on a limb here,” Bailey continues. “I’m going to say that maybe you’re… not being completely truthful with me. Would that be fair to say?”

Andrew’s not sure how to answer that. He doesn’t want to say something he shouldn’t. He doesn’t want to put Meredith at risk.

But it’s Bailey, and it’s obvious by now that she doesn’t believe him, his story. That she has already figured out the real truth, probably had the instant the lies had tumbled out of his mouth.

But really, whatever he tells her now isn’t going to make a difference once he confesses everything to the police anyway. He knows that on the hierarchy of this hospital, Meredith is far above him, and Bailey knows that too. He’s a pawn in the chess game, so he knows it’s only him that can make the sacrifice play to save the queen.

He shrugs, because there’s only one thing left to say now. “I love her.”

It’s the most truthful thing he has said all day, probably in his whole life. It’s a fact that is inked onto his heart at this point, and taking the fall for insurance fraud isn’t going to change that.

Bailey sighs again, and comes to sit in the chair across from him. She looks mournful, brow furrowed. So he’s surprised when she leans over and places her hand over top of his. It’s a gesture of kindness, of understanding, and that comforts him more than he can say right now.

“We all love her, Andrew. But this isn’t the solution.”


	4. all these broken pieces fit together

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: DeLuca choosing peds and treating Zola, which makes Meredith fall for him even more.
> 
> Title from ["The Lightning Strike" by Snow Patrol](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=S0BDS0-ZwOw)

He wasn’t wrong when he said her kids may like him more than her. She had almost been made redundant in her own home. Because when Andrew was over, he attracted their full attention.

At first Meredith just assumed it was because he was new and novel, and that over time their interest would level out and he’d just become part of the furniture. But instead, their excitement to see him had never waned, and in fact, had only escalated.

To Andrew’s credit, he was as equally enamoured with her children as they were with him. He seemed to have endless patience and endless stories and an endless capacity to amuse them.

She had always known he was good with kids. It was part of the reason why peds was so perfect him, even though she knew he had fought against his fate for as long as he could. But in the course of him selecting it as his speciality, she’d seen him charm even the most obstinate of charges on the pediatric floor. She really couldn’t think of a better fit for him.

Still, it was another thing entirely to see him sprawled out on her living room floor, building forts or towers, or holding tea parties with Ellis’ dolls. Sometimes he managed to do all three at once. The sight always made her heart expand increment by increment, until she wasn’t sure how much further it could go without bursting.

\---

It’s a slow day at work when he pages her to the pit. She assumes it’s for a consult, but when she rounds the corner and sees him waiting for her, face serious, she gets a bad feeling.

“Is everything alright?” she asks, coming to a stop in front of him and searching his eyes for clues. Even in the most dire of traumas he usually has time to give her a quick grin, but not today.

He takes a sharp inhale, and reaches out to grab her hand. It’s something he would never do at work in any other circumstance, so the fact that he has turns the blood in her veins to ice.

“Don’t freak out,” he warns, giving her hand a reassuring squeeze. Really, he should know by now that that’s the one thing he shouldn’t say if he doesn’t want her to do exactly that.

“Freak out?” she echoes blindly, because her brain has already gone into overdrive, imagining the possibilities.

His other hand reaches out to grip her shoulder, and it grounds her for a moment. “It’s Zola,” he says. “She’s fine. But she’s being admitted. Appendicitis. We’ll take her into surgery shortly.”

There’s white noise in her ears, and she’s sure he’s saying some other things, but all she can see right now is his mouth moving and his eyes, his beautiful eyes, creased with concern.

She knows from experience that this isn’t a big deal, in the scheme of things. It’s fixable, it’s straight forward. And Zola is in the right place to get the right help. But nevertheless, this is her kid, and she’s entitled to panic.

“Hey,” he murmurs, jolting her out of her thoughts. “It’ll be fine. Alex and I will take care of it, okay?”

Of course, it’ll be him and Alex and the thought comforts her somewhat, or as much as a thought can in the circumstances. She nods numbly.

“Let’s go see her, alright?” he smiles, his hand running a reassuring path up and down her arm. She takes a breath. It will all be fine.

She hopes.

—

It’s all totally fine. Of course.

That’s not to say that she had enjoyed the wait while Zola was in surgery, or the thoughts that spun around in her mind as Maggie and Amelia tried to distract her with food and coffee and mindless chatter.

Meredith knows Zola is in the very best of hands, but nevertheless it is only when she sees her daughter tucked up in a hospital bed, coming around from the anaesthetic, that she finally relaxes.

“Hey Zozo,” she whispers as she watches two eyes blink blearily at her, before recognition sets in.

“Hi Mommy,” Zola says, voice croaky. “Am I better now?”

Meredith nods, running her hand over her daughter’s hair, and trying not to cry with relief. “You’re fine now, sweetheart. Uncle Alex and Andrew made sure you were all fixed up.”

At Andrew’s name, Zola’s face lights up. “Andrew did my surgery?” Meredith wants to laugh at the way Alex’s contribution seems to have fallen by the wayside.

“He did,” she confirms, feeling a swell of pride. Sure, it’s a procedure that any half decent intern could do, but she knows Andrew would’ve wanted to see it through himself given the situation.

Zola seems suitably impressed. “Am I going to miss school now?”

“Probably for a little while,” Meredith replies, knowing that in Zola’s mind this isn’t the positive it would be for many children.

There’s footsteps behind her and she turns.

“Hey, how’s the patient?” Andrew asks, circling around to the other side of Zola’s bed and smiling at her daughter in that way that he has. His presence is immediately reassuring. He radiates confidence and competence whilst at the same time being comforting and kind. She’s not quite sure how he does that.

“Andrew!” Zola cries, with more energy than she had mere moments ago. Meredith spots the width of the smile that lights up her daughter’s face and tries not to get emotional.

“Hey kid,” he says, with a grin that’s almost as broad as Zola’s own. “How are you feeling?”

“I’m okay,” she responds, wrinkling up her nose. “A bit sore.”

His face softens, brow creasing in sympathy. “I’m afraid that’s normal, Zola. But you will feel better really soon, I promise, okay? But you were super brave today and you’ll be able to go home soon.”

Meredith feels that familiar heart swelling sensation in her chest, except this time it feels even bigger and more intense than usual. It’s funny to think that when she and Andrew first met all those years ago, she had no idea this is where they’d end up. She thinks back to how much she’d tried to resist the pull of him, and feels grateful that he never gave up on her. Because he’s slotted into her life, and her children’s lives, with such ease and grace. Just when she thinks she can’t possibly love him any more, he somehow finds the capacity to prove her wrong.

“Is it true you did my surgery?” Zola questions, curiosity etched all over her features.

Andrew nods. “Yes, I did. And your Uncle Alex too.”

Zola looks at him with admiration. “Can you tell me about it?”

Andrew shoots Meredith a questioning look, unsure of his ground until she gives him a small affirming nod. It’s clear Zola’s been raised around doctors, around surgeons, and this isn’t the first time she’s shown an interest. 

Andrew turns back to Zola and grins at her, before pulling a chair up to her bedside and taking a seat.

“So,” he starts, leaning forward, “firstly, do you know where your appendix is?”

Meredith tunes out, because in the end, she’s had a bit of a day, and she can see that Andrew has this all in hand. On paper, maybe they shouldn’t work. He’s open where she’s closed, and he’s soft where she’s hard. But none of that is what really matters.

She watches him now, without listening to his words. Watches how genuine and kind he is with her daughter - the same way he is with all of her kids - and knows that she can’t imagine a life without him now. The idea of losing him, of not being with him, feels like a dark twisty path that she never wants to walk down.

Meredith knows she’s never going to be in total control of that. That’s a lesson she’s learnt the hard way, the worst way possible. But she knows that she’s got a tenderhearted and kind man, a man that loves her and who loves her kids, and that opening herself up to that was nothing to do with luck.

But she feels lucky anyway.


	5. ready or not, here comes the drop

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Andrew books his day off the same day as Meredith. He plans a date at Pike Place Market, shows her his favourite sandwich spot and also buys ingredients for dinner with the kids. Lots of fluff please.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To the anon that requested this, I don't know if this was what you intended, but it is where my brain went. I'm not accustomed to writing a lot of fluff, so that might show. Hope you enjoy it nevertheless!
> 
> Title of the chapter from ["It's Only Natural" by Crowded House.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=duf-dofeoms)

He had crawled into her bed last night at stupid o'clock, late off his shift. She'd been far too groggy to react much, had just let him shuffle closer until his arm had come to rest across her ribcage, his breath ghosting across her shoulder. 

So it's still a surprise to find him there in the morning, when the sun had already been up for a few hours. The kids were with Maggie, and Meredith will pick them up later, but all she'd been planning to do with her day off was catch up on some housework and paperwork, and maybe take a nice long bath.

But as of right now, Andrew DeLuca is in her bed, and he's blissfully dead to the world. He's so still that she can barely sense the rise and fall of his chest, even though she knows he's breathing by the quiet exhales in the silence of her room. He's sprawled out on his back, sheets entangled around his torso, and his hair is everywhere. Her hands itch to smooth down the unruly dark curls. She really doesn't want to wake him, but she also doesn't want to be the one who let him sleep for too long and then be late for work. It wouldn't be the first time recently he's forgotten to set an alarm after tumbling through the door at some ungodly hour. 

Meredith tries a gentle approach. "Hey," she murmurs, low and into the curve of his neck. She knows the alignment of her body against his will rouse him, like somehow even in the depths of sleep, he's alert to her. She takes a moment to appreciate him without attracting his scrutiny. Whenever she usually tries, she finds his eyes are already on her. 

As she suspected, the combination of her voice and proximity does the trick. He grunts. "Is it morning already?"

She grins, watches as he creaks open one eye and twists his head to look at her. "Apparently so," she answers, resting her chin on the broad surface of his shoulder. 

He gives her a wary look before stretching out his limbs like a cat. Slowly, he rolls over onto his side so that they're now face to face, but he makes no attempts at further movement. 

"Don't you have to be at work soon?" Her question hovers in the air. She's trying to not make it sound like she's eager for him to leave, because that isn't the case. But she knows his workload doesn't leave much time for lie in's, and she'd prefer that if he does need to get to work soon, it isn't in a flurry of haste, especially on that motorcycle of his. 

He takes a deep breath before releasing it and shaking his head against the pillow. His eyes are still bleary, but she can tell he's slowly coming to. "No, I switched shifts. Got today off."

Meredith tries to hold back a grin, and fails miserably. This isn't the first time he's surprised her like this. "Oh really? On the same day as my day off? What a _coincidence_. How'd you manage that?"

His hands snake towards her under the covers, finding her waist. Without even thinking she moves herself closer so that her calves are pressed against his and his warmth seeps through to her own skin even more.

He raises an eyebrow, looking more alert. "A man's allowed some secrets, Mere."

"Oh, a man is, is he?"

He hums low in his throat before leaning in to kiss her quickly on the nose. She can already sense him getting restless. It's that old doctor's habit, she knows. Going from dead asleep to wide awake in seconds flat, and Andrew is no exception.

"Mmm, I'm hungry," he murmurs out of the blue. 

"Oh, really?" Meredith can't help the insinuation in her tone. She doesn't even think; her hands are already sliding a path up his chest, testing his reaction. It's her turn to raise an eyebrow, accompanied by a suggestive bite of her lower lip. 

He swallows heavily. "No, Mere, I mean... I'm actually hungry. I didn't have time to eat anything last night. I'm starving."

Oops. She tries not to feel too foolish, but nevertheless hastily withdraws her hands. But her reaction must give him pause, because it takes him only a beat before his brain catches up. She's learning that while Andrew can be very charming when he sets his mind to it, he can actually be quite oblivious when his focus is somewhere else.

Clearly, in this case, on food.

"Hey, hey," he says quickly, before she has the chance to roll away and possibly out of the bed with shame. His arms thread around her, strong and possessive, and she feels the familiar flame curl in her belly. He has the good grace to look a little sheepish, and it's enough for her to forgive him on the spot. Slowly, he presses a kiss against her jaw, and then another closer to her mouth. "Don't get me wrong, Mere," he mutters against her ear, his stubble tickling her neck. "I'm definitely hungry for that too."

She pretends to be put out, but it's hopeless, because she's already smiling like an idiot, already running a hand through his hair to urge him closer.

"Prove it," she challenges, and his eyes flare in response. 

And so he does. Several times.

\---

"It's around here," he promises, her hand firmly tucked into his own. She follows his lead, dodging and weaving the tourist foot traffic, ignoring the stalls of fresh fish and fresh flowers, and other trinkets and knick-knacks that she knows Ellis would go mad for.

He's leading her to the lower floors of the market, where the air is cooler and it's less crowded. The light of the neon signs reflect flatteringly across his face, and not for the first time she thinks just how handsome her boyfriend is, just how much of a genetic lottery he seems to have won.

"Here!" They stop in front of some tucked away shop, so small that she probably wouldn't have even noticed it if he hadn't bought her here. When he'd suggested breakfast, her mind envisioned watching him flip pancakes in her kitchen, not a trek into downtown Seattle.

"Sandwiches?" she questions, because that is not her idea of breakfast food, even though by the time they'd actually left her bed, and showered, it had been inching closer and closer to midday. 

"The best sandwiches in Seattle," he boasts, as he ushers her ahead of him into the tiny space. There are a few tables, and she takes one while he goes to order. After a few minutes, he comes back with a tray stacked with food, and slides into the seat opposite her.

She's sure she looks astounded. "Got enough there?" 

He gives her a look, dark and seductive and yet again, Meredith thanks whatever gods were smiling down on her the day Andrew DeLuca drunkenly kissed her at Alex's wedding, and started this ball rolling. "I've worked up an appetite, I'll have you know. Got to keep my strength up."

She rolls her eyes, and starts to eat. And he's not wrong. The food is amazing. That said, between her own lack of culinary skills and the food at the hospital, it doesn't take much to impress her these days. The fact that Andrew can cook, and actually enjoys it, is certainly not why she fell in love with him, but she's never going to say she's not pleased about it. 

"How did you find this place?" She's valiantly attempting to keep her sandwich from falling to pieces in her hands, as packed as it is with contents. She's making a right mess of it. He pauses to watch her with amusement before responding.

"When I moved to Seattle, I didn't know anyone. So I would just walk and walk and discover the city. Eat a lot of food, see a lot of things." He shrugs, like it's not a big deal, even though there is an element of the tragic about it. "It was definitely more interesting to me than Wisconsin anyway," he jokes, trying to lighten the mood.

Although Meredith has lived here for a long time, it's a rare occasion for her to venture into Pike Street Market nowadays. Perhaps that's on her, for not appreciating what is right under her nose. She sees the parallel as the thoughts collide in her mind. It's certainly true of Andrew, a man who had been in her life pretty much day in and day out for years without her really giving him a second thought, beyond whether or not he was competent at his job. She's already spent countless hours trying to figure that one out, how she'd not seen it - seen _him_. The only conclusion she's ever reached is that she's not the same person she was, and he's not the same person he was either. And it's only once those changes in them had both happened, that they could get to where they are now.

As she's been mulling this over, Andrew's practically inhaled his food, is starting to look longingly at hers. 

She catches him mid-stare, and scoffs. "How do you manage it?"

What she means is how does he manage to eat like he does, and look like he does. After all, she knows his body well enough by now - knows the firmness of him under her hands, knows that there isn't any part of him that isn't worth her enthusiastic admiration. Besides, now that he's around most of the time, she's finally got a sense of just how much he likes and appreciates good food. Her kitchen has never been so well stocked, and her children never so well fed. 

But while her thought process may be obvious to her, it seems to be lost on him. His eyes linger on her own, and the little line that sit between his brows appears as he frowns. "Manage what?"

She makes a vague waving motion at where his sandwich once was, and then up and down at him. For good measure, she traces her eyes up and down his physique, and is actually taken aback when he blushes. It's disgustingly endearing. 

"I run... sometimes." He shrugs, like it's nothing. Like it's not worth mentioning that both her place and his are located atop enormously steep hills that make Meredith tired just thinking about them, let alone actually jogging up them.

"I've never seen you go for a run." She's trying not to sound suspicious, but she feels like this is something she should've noticed about him by now. 

He tilts his head in that way he has, gives her a good-natured stare. "I go early in the mornings. You're always asleep. Besides, I'm not with you all the time." 

The last part comes out as a throw away comment, but they both know that as of recently, his words are a half truth at best. They're spending more time together than not these days, between work and her house. He still has his apartment, and stops in there occasionally, usually to get clean clothes, or actually get some studying done. Sometimes they go there together if they really want some quiet time. But all in all these days, now that she's given him his own key, it really does seem like they are basically living together in all but name. They've not really talked about it officially, so she's quite conscious that it now seems to be hanging in the air over them.

"Still," she retorts, breezing past it anyway because now wasn't the time for that conversation, not yet, not when she hasn't raised the idea with her kids first, "are you telling me that just running alone helps keep you looking like... well... _that_?"

A laugh bursts out of him, and Meredith's glad they don't have an audience. "Dr. Grey," he scolds, shaking his head with a bemused smirk, "I'm feeling very objectified right now."

She can feel his foot nudging between her own underneath the table, and something in her stomach swoops in response to the contact. It feels more intimate than if he were holding her hand above the table. She's quite forgotten her words. Instead her mind flashes back to this morning, to the hot press of him against her, his mouth hard against her clavicle, the water of the shower trickling down them both. It's enough for her to inhale sharply, to try and break away from the stare he's giving her. There's no doubt that he's fully aware of what he's doing.

She won't let him win this one - or at least not here, not now, not when she can't do anything about the sensations running through her. 

"Good," she sparks back eventually, after taking a moment. "And if you're well behaved, I might objectify you some more later too."

\---

They pick up the kids from Maggie's on the way back from the market, and Bailey's only been in the car for about twenty seconds before he pipes up.

"Mom, Andrew - can we have pizza for dinner?"

"I don't see why not," she replies, glancing at her son in the rear view mirror. She has a number of local pizza places on speed dial, and as a busy surgeon and mother of three, she refuses to feel guilty about that. "We can order some in when you get hungry later."

"No," Bailey chirps. "Can we make the pizza? Like we did last time?"

Meredith knows that the last time was when she was working late, and she'd come home to a kitchen scattered with flour and god knows what else, and three very sated children, and her boyfriend doing the dishes, while wearing an apron. 

"You mean, you want Andrew to help you make pizza again?" She doesn't need to look across to see the pleased look Andrew is shooting at her from the passenger seat. He's never not thrilled with these tiny victories, and the fact that they mean so much to him makes them mean even more to her.

There's a cheer from all three children, and Meredith senses a conspiracy, of which Bailey was clearly appointed the ringleader. 

"Do we have what we need?" she asks Andrew quietly, as she slows to a stop at the traffic light. She risks a glance over at him.

"We?" he teases, a smile playing at the corner of his lips. "I bet you ten bucks you have no idea what is in your own kitchen cupboards."

He's not wrong. She pokes her tongue out quickly at him before her children can see. 

Andrew twists around in his seat, looks over at the three in the back. Meredith can see their faces shining back at him, and her heart lets out a giant thud of delight. She's so damn lucky. Her children adore him just as much as he adores them, and something about that feels like destiny. "Did you guys want to use the stretchy cheese again?"

She can't help but laugh at his turn of phrase, but he's pitched it perfectly for her kids to nod enthusiastically in agreement. 

"The grocery store on West Mercer has it," he says turning back to her. "That okay?"

"I'm just the chauffeur," she grins, as she flicks on her turning signal to take the next left. 

Minutes later, she's pulled into the grocery store parking lot. There are no empty spaces, so she drives up to the entrance to let Andrew jump out and go inside while she waits for a space to become available. But as he does, to her surprise, both Bailey and Zola clamber out of the car to go in with him. Andrew looks momentarily surprised, and seeks her eye contact for approval. She's sure she looks surprised too, but something about this small gesture has left her feeling a bit emotional. She manages to nod quickly in his direction before turning her focus to the air conditioning settings if only to give herself something to do to keep herself in check.

Andrew must notice, and so swiftly shifts his attention. "Hey Ellis, you want to come too?" She's still strapped into her car seat and so can't follow her siblings' lead as easily, but all the same, Andrew's right not to leave her out. Meredith half expects her youngest to say no, but instead Ellis is nodding too, and so it takes Andrew half a second to open the rear car door, unbuckle Ellis from her seat and swing her onto his hip.

The car door shuts with a thud, and all four of them are already walking away into the entrance, and it's something that Meredith thought she'd never see - let alone feel so overwhelmed by. But really, it's wonderful, the sight of them all. Zola and Bailey are skipping besides Andrew like he's the Pied Piper and Ellis is giggling as they walk. 

Meredith's not sure when happiness became this easy. Was it supposed to be like this? Did she dare trust it? 

A car horn behind her bursts her out from her reverie, reminding her that she's in the way. But she can't help but take one last look at them before they all disappear inside. 

She sighs contentedly. If her future is dinners filled with stretchy cheese, and happy children, and a man who looks both sexy and domestic while having flour in his hair, then she really wants to trust in the happiness she's feeling. She's completely ready for it.


	6. there are battles ahead

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Merluca and angst
> 
> Meredith's not quite sure how to defuse this situation. Because one minute everything had been fine, and the next he's looking at her like a wounded animal, like she's cut his heart out of his chest, and is holding it in her hands while he watches on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was a nice broad prompt, so thank you to the anonymous tumblr user that sent it to me. This isn't anywhere near as angsty as I thought it was going to be, but it was fun to write. I'm not sure how realistic it is, but hey.
> 
> The title is taken from one of my favourite songs and one of the greatest songs ever written* - ["Don't Dream It's Over" by Crowded House.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=J9gKyRmic20)
> 
> * fight me. I'll die on this hill.

"Is it _such_ a horrible idea, Mere?" 

He's not quite shouting, because Andrew doesn't shout. Yes, he gets impatient and a bit short sometimes, but he doesn't, _they_ don't, shout. 

And yet here they are, glaring at each other across the kitchen counter on what is supposed to be a peaceful morning. The kids have been packed up and packed off to their various destinations, and they have the house to themselves for once. It's rare these days, so rare, and this was not what she had in mind when she had contemplated something hot and heavy. 

Meredith's not quite sure how to defuse this situation. Because one minute everything had been fine, and the next he's looking at her like a wounded animal, like she's cut his heart out of his chest, and is holding it in her hands while he watches on. 

"Andrew, I-" she starts, before she realises she's really not sure what to say here. She wishes she could rewind the last five minutes, because that's all it was - five minutes ago, and one off-hand comment, and all of a sudden, she's ruined their blissful morning.

He's fumbling for his keys - or well, her keys, _their_ keys, because they live here together now. She can tell he's only moments away from leaving, and she's pretty sure if he gets on that motorcycle and then hurts himself because he's in such a mood, she'll never forgive herself or him. It's enough to snap her out of her bewilderment.

"Don't you dare walk out of that door," she warns, trying not to wag her finger at him like he's a teenager insisting on acting out. He's not, even though deep down, she feels like he's behaving a bit like one - all attitude and silent fury.

He sighs at her. It's loud and obviously exasperated, but he places the keys back down on the counter with a pointed clatter. But then he stares, _glowers_ more like - and she's not sure if that is any better. 

They aren't a couple who fight. They're just _not_. They toe the line of it sometimes, when they are both tired and have had a long day, and one is getting on the other's nerves. But for the big things, the big conversations, they don't fight. They discuss. They debate. They actually _communicate_ and so she's not sure why he's not playing by the well established rules here.

Andrew's clearly expecting her to say something; probably waiting for her to explain herself, and she's not sure she can. Meredith only knows that her response came from somewhere deep within her subconscious. It was a gut reaction that had left her mouth before she could stop it, before she could even think about how it may sound to him - and whether it may upset him. But she's not sure she's in the wrong, or at least, she's not sure that she'd change her answer, even if they had sat down and talked it out like the adults they are clearly not being right now.

He's also obviously getting tired of waiting for her to speak, because he sighs again but then also unexpectedly softens. She knows him so well by now that it isn't that he's backing down - far from it, because Andrew very rarely backs down when he thinks he's right, he's much like her in that way. But his reaction does signify that he's at least going to try and see her side of things, and she figures that's a good start.

"I don't understand, Mere. I mean, we're _together_ , right? And it's not that I don't like how things are, because things are great. But I didn't think you'd be so against the idea of-"

"-please don't say it, Andrew. I don't think-"

"-marriage, I mean, what would it change? Really?"

He's looking at her so desperately now that she thinks he might implode, because Andrew's never had a feeling he didn't express to her, and sometimes that's wonderful, but right now, it's torture. Meredith hates to see all that hurt and disappointment and longing plastered all over his face, and knowing that she put it there.

But here they are. This conversation is happening whether she likes it or not.

She knows she's frowning. "That's it, don't you see?" Every part of her wants to go over and make contact with him, but she's scared that he won't let her, even though that's not very rational of her, because she can barely think of a time when he's shied away from her touch. But this feels different, like there are bigger stakes than before - even though that can't be true either, given all the things they've overcome together so far. Meredith takes a deep breath. "Why do we need to get married at all if things are good? We're happy and... we don't need a piece of paper to tell us that."

His brow creases and a pained look crosses his face. "Maybe you don't need that, Mere. Maybe it means nothing to you, but it means something to _me_. I _want_ to be married. I want to be married to _you_."

The sentiment is sweet, but she's not sure what to say to that. Meredith's sure thousands of women would be melting on the spot right now, and maybe the fact that she's not is a whole other set of problems about herself that she's buried down deep. After all, she loves him. She has no doubt there. But they've not really discussed this topic before. And Meredith knows that marriage isn't something she needs in her life. She only did it last time because of Zola, and while she doesn't regret it, it was never something vital in her life plan the first time around, let alone now having to contemplate it a second time. 

But really, when she thinks about it, should she really be surprised that he wants this? She doesn't mean to pigeon-hole him, stuff Andrew DeLuca into a box with labels all over it, but knowing him as she does, perhaps she's stupid to have not realised that this is something he'd want, something he'd eventually _need_ from her.

In the end, she deflects. "But why now, Andrew? Why are you bringing it up now?" She tries to circle the counter so at least they aren't facing off across it, like lines drawn on a battlefield. It feels too combative given the delicacy of the situation. But he's too smart for that. He knows that as soon as she gets in his proximity he'll lose all resolve and power. So for every step she takes towards him, he takes one step in the opposite direction. Meredith wishes he didn't know her so well sometimes.

"Why now? Why not now?" He's sharp and quick to throw her words back at her. It's not vicious but it's short, like he knows she's stalling. "I thought, I _assumed_ \- and maybe that's my fault - that marriage was on the table for us. And you've just told me, in no uncertain terms, that apparently it's not, like it's not even a conversation we can have." There's a plea in his eyes, and she's starting to realise how deeply her knee-jerk response has cut him. "Mere, I'm not saying let's get married tomorrow. But I am saying that yes, I want to be married to you at some point in the not too distant future. Is that so unreasonable of me?"

Meredith narrows her eyes at him. She's not shooting down the idea just to be unreasonable or difficult, and she resents the implication. And if she's honest, she wasn't even aware that she had any particular feelings on the subject of being married again until he'd mentioned it in passing to her like it was a foregone conclusion. 

She can tell he's not finished, like there's something else eating at him. She only has to wait a moment before he blurts it out. "Or... is it just me that you don't want to be married to?" There's no mistaking the utter despair that's rolling off of him in waves.

Meredith shakes her head rapidly, pressing her palms firmly into the counter in front of her, as if the pressure of them is enough to force the sincerity of her words physically into his frame. "That's _not_ it, Andrew. Please... don't think that. It's just... I've just... never contemplated remarrying," she finds herself answering, sliding down to her elbows, and burying her forehead in her hands for a moment. She wishes they could just go back to bed and forget she ever said anything. 

She glances up at him again, and he looks unbearably sad, even if she can see all the affection underneath it shining through. God, this man _loves_ her, enough to want to _marry_ her, and yet here she is, standing like a pillar of stone.

The silence that forms is uncomfortably long. It settles like a heavy weight, until she feels like she's being dragged down with it.

It's a shock when he eventually clears his throat and speaks. "You only ever planned to be married to Derek," he says finally and it's a statement, rather than a question he's asking of her. He can barely meet her eyes. His words are so simple and yet so full of resignation, and she can hear in his voice just how much he's already accepted the inevitable outcome here. It breaks her heart that his mind has gone there, although she can't lie - perhaps, without realising, it's the reason why her initial reaction had been so swift. When Meredith thinks of marriage, she thinks of Derek, and it's always been that way. Maybe her brain hasn't caught up to a different reality yet.

It would be so much easier for her to just give in, she thinks. She so desperately wants to please him, even though she made a promise to herself long ago that she'd never compromise herself for any man ever again. Meredith also knows that Andrew would loathe the idea of her doing anything she doesn't want to do in order to make him happy. There's an innate contradiction to the whole situation, and she's not sure where that leaves them.

"Perhaps I did," she answers finally. She doesn't want to lie, especially to him, especially about this, and there's probably an element of truth in what he's saying. "Maybe that's why I reacted that way." It's not an excuse even though it is.

"Right," he says with a curt nod. His lips are pressed together in a tight line. "Well, I don't want to put you in that position if that's how you feel." It's such a clipped final note that Meredith hears it for what it is. Him giving up, giving in to her, because she's learnt by now that Andrew will make the sacrifice for her every time, even if she doesn't ask him too.

A wave of guilt washes over her, and she feels annoyed at herself. After all, she's allowed to want what she wants - even if she's not sure if she actually truly wants it, or even why she does. Meredith can't tell if it is just another symptom of her messed up childhood, her messed up adulthood, her potentially messed up Alzheimer-y future, or just that she's plain scared. She just knows that it isn't her job to simply roll over and bend to his wishes either, even though he's equally as entitled to want what he wants too. And so whichever way she turns she feels like she's getting it wrong.

"Well," she sighs after a moment, "I don't want to make you unhappy either." She knows that much for sure, even though her wants seem to be deeply at odds not just with his right now, but also with those in her own mind.

He stares at her for a good long while, eyes full of so much that she feels she might drown. And then he's walking around to meet her, gingerly, as if not to spook her, like he's half expecting her to turn and run with every step he takes in her direction. It takes an age until he's there in front of her, all tall and stubborn and so so beautiful. His hand reaches out, fingers tracing a gentle path down the underside of her wrist, and her heart skips in response, even after all this time of knowing him like this. 

He tilts his head in that way he has. "I love you," he says plainly, the spark behind his eyes igniting just like every other time he's ever said it. His expression is all warmth and honey, and the simplicity of his words is why she'll never give him up, not in a million years. Because only he can bring it all back to what really matters, even when they can't agree.

So she reaches for him too, an arm slowly sliding around his waist, an excuse to curl her body into his. She presses her face against his chest, a button of his shirt inconveniently hard against her ear. 

"I love you," she echoes - because she does, and nothing about this conversation really changes that. She doesn't have a solution to this problem. Maybe there isn't one. But that's something they'll figure out together regardless.


	7. it's the same room, but everything's different

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "Meredith is jealous but does not want to show when young female patients always try to show their interest in Andrew or that kind of scenario. And I also would love to see Andrew jealous with other men around her who look interested or maybe do with Derek or something even though Andrew completely understand that but sometimes tiny doubt comes in."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To the tumblr anon that requested this: 
> 
> Your first prompt was a jealous Meredith, but I felt I'd already explored that [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18887035/chapters/44830621) in a prompt someone else sent me. I also kind of explored Andrew contemplating Derek in [this fic](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18589255/chapters/44068756). So this time, I went with your alternative suggestion which is a jealous Andrew. Either way, I hope you like it.
> 
> Also, I'm not sure how well this fits into canon, given that I couldn't remember what interactions Andrew and Nathan Riggs ever had on the show (if any). I'm not up to that part of my rewatch! Either way, for the basis of this fic, let's assume it wasn't very much.
> 
> This also exists in a weird canon where Owen and Teddy have had their baby, but Andrew and Meredith aren't dealing with any repercussions from the insurance fraud. Yeah, I don't know either.
> 
> Title of the chapter from ["Weather With You" by Crowded House.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ag8XcMG1EX4)

There's a familiar looking man in the lobby, and Andrew's been racking his brains for the past few minutes trying to figure out how he knows him. The man is good-looking, in a rumpled sort of way, and he lounges bonelessly in a chair, like he hasn't got a care in the world.

"Can you stop that?" An annoyed voice says from the desk in front of him. It's Amelia.

Andrew's confused. "Stop what?"

Amelia gestures to the pen in his hand, and mimics the motion of it being clicked and then unclicked. He hadn't even realised he was doing it.

"Sorry," he mumbles, before turning back to look at the man again, who has now pulled out his phone and is tapping away on it. Andrew knows he's staring, but he can't help himself. He's usually so good with names and faces, but for some reason, this one is alluding him.

Amelia chirps up again. "What's up with you?"

He turns back to her, and then makes what he hopes is a non-obvious nod in the man's direction. "Do you know who that is?"

Amelia straightens in her chair and leans around him to take a look. It only takes seconds for her to tilt her head, and her eyes to widen and then narrow again. Her mouth sets itself in a firm line, and she glances back at Andrew. He's not sure what to make of what just happened.

"That's Nathan Riggs," she says perfunctorily, and then gives him a puzzled look. "He worked here a few years ago - don't you remember him?" 

Now that Andrew has a name to match the face, his brain is able to start filling in the jigsaw. He remembers bits and pieces. Ex-army, complicated history with Owen, something to do with his sister. Andrew never really knew him that well. But he definitely recalls one thing: he had dated Meredith Grey.

At the time, it had barely been a blip on Andrew's radar. Why would it? While he had admired her, he hadn't really known her - more just known _of_ her. Mostly stories about her mother, and stories about Meredith herself: why her name was plastered all over the hospital, and why she had seemed so sad all the time. 

In those years, Andrew had just been preoccupied with keeping his head above water: not failing his intern exams, and not making a fool of himself in front of any of the attendings. So, yeah, he had heard that they dated, and then suddenly Nathan was gone. He knew all of that, but he didn't know much more. He and Meredith had never spoken about it.

"Why's he here?" The words are out of his mouth before he can stop them. He glances back to Amelia and hopes that she can't sense the uneasiness that's slowly rising in him.

Amelia's face is steadily neutral, even though Andrew's known her long enough to catch the flicker of something behind her usually bright eyes. She clears her throat. "I guess he's here with Megan. To visit Teddy and Owen and the baby."

Andrew wants to kick himself. Meredith doesn't tell him everything, but he's becoming such a fixture at the house that Amelia no longer kicks him out of the room when she wants to vent to her sister about Owen, and that whole messed up situation.

He winces sympathetically. "Of course. Sorry." It's not much of an apology, but it's better than nothing.

She waves a hand at him, her eyes suddenly very focused on the tablet in front of her, even though Andrew can see she's just absently flicking back and forth between the same two screens in an attempt to look occupied. "It's fine. It is what it is," she responds brusquely, and he knows that's her signal to him that this particular avenue of conversation is closed. 

The reminder of the existence of Megan Hunt has calmed Andrew somewhat. It's not that Andrew has any reason to feel insecure about the presence of Nathan Riggs - after all, he thinks it is fair to say that it could be called ancient history by now. And besides, Andrew trusts Meredith implicitly. Nevertheless, he'll accept the small buzz of reassurance it gives him to know that if Meredith's ex-boyfriend has to be roaming around the hospital, it isn't because he's seeking out Andrew's girlfriend.

And yet, as soon as his mind goes there, he sees a flash on blonde hair, and set of dark blue scrubs cross the lobby, and fling herself into Riggs' open arms. Her familiar laugh echoes against the walls, and out of the corner of his eye, Andrew sees Amelia's head whip up in interest.

Andrew can't hear what they're saying, but he doesn't need to to feel deeply uncomfortable. He can just see there's a lot of smiling, and touching, and he's not sure when he last saw Meredith be this tactile with a man that wasn't him or Alex. And at the very least, Andrew's grown to understand how it works with her and Alex - knows their friendship operates on a level separate to every other relationship in Meredith's life. 

But this? This is something that Andrew can't read, because he's got nothing to draw from, no data to rely on. He doesn't know the ins and outs of Meredith and Nathan's history and although he accepts it is none of his business, he also worries that there's a reason why Meredith's not even told him the barest of facts. After all, is this the way most people behave with their ex's? Andrew certainly doesn't behave this way with Maggie, even though he would still consider them friends. He's not even sure if Sam showed up on his doorstep that there would be this much smiling and laughing.

He shakes his head, because he doesn't want to be this guy. He's _not_ this guy. Nevertheless, the curious look on Amelia's face when watching them both doesn't put him greatly at ease either. She meets his eyes, and her face arranges itself more carefully.

"Don't be weird about it, DeLuca," she warns, as she rolls her chair away from the desk before standing up. 

He shoots her a look back. "I'm not being _weird_ about it," he mutters, even though he feels like a kid being scolded. 

"Good," Amelia responds with a sharp glare. "Because there's nothing to be worried about. Even though it's a little sweet that you are."

With that, she's gone, her lab coat flaring out behind her.

And now that Amelia's not watching him, he glances back at the pair again. They're ambling off towards the elevators, and Andrew can see they're walking so close that their shoulders bump together with every step. Meredith's positively _beaming_ , and Andrew tries to squash down the curl of jealousy that rises up in his belly. He likes to think that he makes Meredith smile like that - and if he'd asked himself that yesterday, he would have answered with confidence that he knows he does. But right this second, a wave of doubt rolls through him like a steam train, and he doesn't like how it makes him feel. 

Amelia's right. He doesn't have anything to worry about. Because she loves him, and he loves her, and they are _happy_.

But the feeling still bubbles away inside of him anyway.

\---

"He's _hot_ , right?" 

Andrew is waiting in line at the cafeteria, responding to a text from Carina, when Qadri's voice in front of him breaks his focus. He glances up and sees that she's not even speaking to him, but is murmuring to Schmitt who is standing next to her. 

"You think everyone is hot," Schmitt sighs back, digging a stray elbow into her ribs, the imbalance causing him to almost up-end his tray of food.

Qadri gives him a stare in return. "But I'm right?"

Andrew watches as Schmitt rolls his eyes. "Well, objectively... yes. He is."

"Is he going to be working here, do you think?" Qadri clicks her tongue thoughtfully and the line shuffles forward a few steps. Andrew trails behind them, not meaning to eavesdrop on the conversation, even if they aren't really making much effort to keep it quiet.

Levi shrugs. "How would I know?"

"I wonder how Dr. Grey knows him?"

At the mention of Meredith, Andrew's interest is further piqued. Qadri's craning her neck to stare a little more, and Andrew takes the opportunity to follow her eyeline. But somehow, he already knows what he'll see.

Meredith is at a lunch table with Nathan Riggs, and they're talking. 

He reassures himself that it's all totally innocent, because, at the end of the day, it _is_. They are two people having lunch in the middle of a crowded room. It's not like they're being furtive and secretive about anything. Andrew tries very hard not to focus on the fact that they're seated next to each other instead of across the table, and once again, there's a lot of smiling and laughing. 

_No_ , he thinks. He's not going to do this to himself. And never mind the fact that it's unfair on Meredith, who had done nothing wrong apart from being on good terms with her ex. 

A little too good, he thinks.

He's suddenly lost his appetite.

\---

They're meant to be meeting at his place tonight. They've been on opposing schedules for the past week, and this evening is the first time they're both free. Andrew has been looking forward to it.

He likes it when she's at his place. Not that he doesn't like it when they are at hers, to be fair. But there is something about seeing her amongst his life, his things, that really sparks something in him. He likes seeing her lounging on his couch, shuffling about in his kitchen, sprawled out across his bed. It makes it feel more like home when she's there.

The unease that had consumed him earlier has had time to fade. And so when she appears next to him at the nurses station, all he feels is happiness and excitement at the idea that they'll be free in a few hours, and he'll have her all to himself. He has _plans_ , and they mostly involve her naked in his bed, and definitely not him dwelling over the existence of Nathan Riggs.

"Hey," she smiles, and there's something in her tone that flags up a warning in his mind. He senses what she's going to say before she even says it. "Can we postpone tonight?"

"Oh," he answers, and it's blunter than he intended. "Why?" Andrew's trying to keep the disappointment out of his voice, but knows that he's failing miserably. She's looking up at him with those eyes of hers, and he's trying very hard not to get lost in them.

Her hand reaches out and curls itself around his wrist. For some reason the gesture doesn't reassure him. Mostly because she doesn't often initiate physical contact when they are at work, and so the fact that she is tells him that he might not like what she's about to say. 

"Megan and Nathan are in town. I want to catch up with them before they leave," she's explaining, and Andrew's trying very hard not read too much into the giddiness laced in her tone. After all, she has said _Megan and Nathan_ and so on that basis, he'd be be a dumb idiot to get worked up over it.

He wants her to know that he doesn't begrudge her for cancelling on him to see her visiting friends. It's understandable in the circumstances. But he just really wishes one of those friends wasn't also her handsome and accomplished ex-boyfriend.

"Megan and _Nathan_ , huh?" he echoes, with a raise of an eyebrow. He attempts to keep his voice as neutral as possible, but can hear the way his tone has a rough edge to it that he doesn't seem to be able to control. It's like he's trying to tell her that he's aware of the significance here, even if he's too cowardly to say it out loud. There's a small part of him that's craving the reassurance about this situation that only she can provide.

"Yes," she replies calmly, but he notes the falter in her smile a little bit as she registers his tone. "They're only here for a few days, to see Owen, Teddy and the baby." He sees her swallow heavily before continuing. "Although Nathan's been telling me that he may actually stay on longer. He's got a patient here who needs a surgery and he's suggested that he'd like my help, and so I wanted to chat to him about it."

Andrew knows how he should react. He definitely knows how he _wants_ to react: maturely, like a man befitting of Meredith Grey and everything about her. He'd like to think he's capable of that.

But there's something about the way she says _Nathan_ that hits on a raw nerve. She says it with an intimacy and admiration that unintentionally inflames him. Andrew wouldn't say that he's possessive by nature, even though the thought of Meredith with another man doesn't exact thrill him either, even if it was years ago. He tries not to begrudge anyone their past if he can help it, and this should be no different. But there's something about how she speaks about Nathan Riggs that only serves to remind Andrew of how little he knows about the two of them. He doesn't know how things ended, or why. This lack of knowledge taunts him more than he'd like. He feels the weight of bitterness on his tongue, and tries desperately to swallow it down.

He fails.

"Well, I wouldn't want to keep you away from _Nathan_ ," he sighs, turning back to his chart. The instant the words leave his mouth, he regrets them. 

Her grasp on his wrist releases and her hand pulls sharply away, as if she's been burnt. Meredith's no fool, and she certainly doesn't tolerate them - and Andrew won't blame her right now if she's thinking that he's behaving like one. He knows he is.

"Andrew, is there something you want to say?" He doesn't want to look at her, because he knows she'll be glaring at him. There's a fiery edge in her voice that he'd enjoy if it wasn't directed squarely at him. 

He does want to say something. He wants to say he knows he is being a jealous idiot, even though he should know better. He wants to be able to accept that Nathan Riggs isn't a threat and yet Andrew's only too aware of the fact that Meredith's resolutely never spoken about him or what he meant to her. It seems clear even after only observing them for mere minutes today that Nathan is a man that can somehow still light a spark in her, even if he is allegedly happily in love with someone else. 

(Although, how could anyone _not_ be in love with Meredith Grey? It's a question that Andrew can't fathom the answer to.)

Andrew's also trying not to be insecure about the fact that she is who she is, and he's who he is. Sometimes he can't help but think that one day she's going to realise she could do so much better, be with someone just that bit _more_ than him. That may not be Nathan Riggs precisely, but perhaps someone who can offer more of what someone like Meredith deserves.

But instead of all of that, what comes out of his mouth is a strangled grunt, not even an actual word. It's not what he intended, but it sounds so dismissive, and Andrew knows instantly how she'll perceive it. And he can't even blame her.

"Fine," she snaps before he even has a chance to correct himself, to try and find the words to articulate the confusing mix of feelings that are clashing together inside of him. "Be like that." 

She half turns, before she stops and whirls back to face him, her face dark with anger. "But just so you know, I was going to ask if you wanted to _join_ us at Joe's. I thought I'd introduce you, so you can meet them both. And I thought you'd want to hear about the surgery, because I was planning on asking you to scrub in with us. But given your clear feelings on the matter... I think it's for the best that you don't come with me tonight."

She's storming away before he even has a chance to stop her.

\---

Andrew knows he has to fix this, and fast. He doesn't want to fight with her, especially about this, especially about something that is mostly just made up of his own insecurities and doubt. 

He waits an hour in the hope that she will have cooled off a bit, before paging her to an on call room. He's not sure she'll come, because this is new ground for them, and he wouldn't put it past her to ignore him given his behaviour earlier.

He sits in silence for ten long minutes, and has pretty much convinced himself that she's not coming, when the door suddenly flies open. She's there, in front of him, all fire and ice, compressed into such a small frame. She slams the door behind her, and takes a quick glance around the room to make sure they are alone before launching a tirade of words at him.

"What the hell, Andrew? You don't get to behave that way, and then just page me here like I should just drop everything and come running!"

She's right, of course. She's busy and important and they've always said that personal stuff shouldn't get in the way of either of them doing their jobs. 

"I know, I'm sorry," he acknowledges, holding his hands up in surrender. He wants to defuse this situation as soon as possible, and begging for forgiveness seems like it could work as well as anything else right now. 

She's practically sparking as she stands there, like she's on the verge of spilling over, and a part of him wants to just let her. 

"And I'm sorry about before too," he says with all the sincerity he can muster. He genuinely means it with every fibre for his being. He didn't fight so hard to get her, only to drive her away over something so self-destructive. "I was... jealous."

She cocks her head at him and narrows her eyes. Her shoulders have dropped a fraction and he takes that as a good sign, even though he's nowhere near out of the woods yet. "You don't say," she answers drily, staring him down.

He takes a careful step closer to her, and she stands her ground. "Yes, well. It was... stupid of me."

Andrew waits for her response but she just keeps eyeing him, waiting. He licks his lips in anticipation. After a moment, she sighs. "Well, go on," she prompts.

He wasn't expecting this forum, and he doesn't exactly revel in the idea of spelling out to her all his insecurities and fears - even though that's what mature adults are supposed to do in relationships, and that's clearly where he has fallen short today.

"You both seemed so friendly today, in the lobby. And at lunch. And I know that doesn't have to mean anything, but... you've never spoken about him, Mere. You've never told me why it ended, how you felt about it. I thought maybe... that's because you felt a lot for him - maybe still could? I don't know. And, c'mon, look at him. He swans in, all nice hair and cocky attitude, bringing you surgeries and making you laugh, and... yeah, I got a bit jealous, okay? I behaved badly. I'm sorry."

The silence in the air feels deafening, and Andrew's still trying to figure out whether he's made things better or worse when she finally speaks.

"All nice hair and cocky attitude? Really, Andrew? Have you looked in the mirror lately?" There's a smile lingering at the corner of her mouth, and despite himself, he can feel a blush rise up his neck, hit the tips of his ears. 

She inches a little closer, but doesn't touch him. "The reason I don't talk about him is that..." she bites her lip, and Andrew tries not lose focus, "he was there at a difficult time of my life, and he was someone who understood my pain and didn't judge me for it. I wasn't... _in love_ with him, Andrew. And even if I had been, that doesn't change anything here, with you and I. I don't talk about him because he didn't hurt me, or break me. Megan came back, and I told him to go, because it's what I would've done if it had been me. And it was fine. I was happy for him." She fixes her green eyes on him, and where he expects to see them glassy, he sees only her matter-of-fact stare. "I can be friends with him because of that. Because we were each other's fix, at a time when we both needed it. But not anything more."

It's all new information to him, but it's more than Andrew expected given the circumstances. And what she's saying makes sense. Andrew can't say he'll ever know the depths of what Meredith went through with losing her husband, but he can understand the concept of seeking out a person who could uniquely relate to that, and offer comfort without the threat of anything more.

"Okay," he nods, and he finds that it truly is. He's just sorry that he's put them both through this in order to get here. He wants to reach out to her, hold her close, but although they aren't yelling at each other, he's still not sure whether he's entirely forgiven.

"So will you come with me tonight? To meet them?"

He's surprised at her question. "You still want me to after all of this?"

Meredith graces him with a level stare. "Well, they both want to meet you, and I rather enjoy your company when you're not being a jealous idiot." There it is, that smirk again, playing at the edge of her mouth. It's temptation itself, and enough to propel him forward, his hands reaching out to her hips, gently tugging her towards him. It's a relief when she doesn't resist, actually comes to rest her palms against either side of his collarbone.

He's trying not to grin too much. "You told them about me?"

Meredith shakes her head good-naturedly, her ponytail swinging out behind her. "Don't let it go to your head, DeLuca," she scolds. Nevertheless, her lips are inching impossibly closer, and he finally feels on safe enough ground to lean forward and kiss her softly, carefully.

It still doesn't quite feel enough. So he quickly kisses her once more, before whispering against her cheek. "I really am sorry, Mere."

Her nose slides against his, and he can feel her breath ghosting against his cheek, inhale after exhale. One of her hands slides into the hair at the nape of his neck, her fingertips circling gently. He feels his whole body surrender to her touch. 

"I know," she whispers back. Her lips are barely grazing his own, and yet it's one the most seductive things he's ever felt in his whole life. "Now, show me how much."


	8. rise up through the maze

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "a fic of Andrew spending time with the kids, maybe teaching Bailey how to ride a bike or something like that".

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another tumblr prompt, so thank you to the anon that sent me this one. I'm sure they were hoping for sweet and fluffy but instead they got... well, whatever this is.
> 
> Title from ["Never Be the Same" by Crowded House.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wZQIzLBtHQw)

It's a beautifully hot day, the kind of day that Seattle rarely sees, even in the summer time. Meredith tilts her head up to the sun and lets the rays hit her face. 

There's a shuffling sound next to her, then the awareness of someone sitting down. Meredith squints open one eye and sees her sister.

"Hey," Maggie says, as she slides a pair of sunglasses up her nose. Her hair is pulled back and off her face, and Meredith smiles at her fondly. "Everything okay?"

Meredith glances out and over the park in front of them, stretches of green grass and swing-set and slide in the distance. Zola, Bailey, Ellis and Harriet are all accounted for, overseen by Andrew and Jackson in what appears to be a game of soccer where there are absolutely no rules and everyone is in fits of laughter. Several children's bikes are discarded on the ground nearby, and Meredith's torn somewhere between joy and melancholy. 

Andrew's been trying to help Bailey get the hang of riding a bike without training wheels for the past few weeks. Whenever Andrew has had a spare moment and an ounce of energy left to give, both of them have been outdoors, practising and practising. Meredith had offered her services, but Bailey had steadily rebuffed her, instead favouring Andrew's calm and patient presence. Meredith thinks Bailey's preference for Andrew in this is something to do with the enormous motorcycle that Andrew still parks her in driveway, and that Bailey is somewhat in awe of, much to her concern. 

Bailey had finally mastered it today, and they'd all cheered and hollered as he had zipped around the park, beaming. Andrew had watched on, looking as proud as she felt, and something in her had disconnected slightly. Enough so that she'd had to retreat to the park bench to collect herself for a moment.

"Everything's fine," she finally replies to Maggie, even though she hears the tension in her throat, and knows that Maggie must hear it too. Her sister is too kind to outright push her, but Meredith knows she'll find another way if they sit here long enough. 

"They're having so much fun," Maggie comments, nodding her head in the direction of the group. Andrew has now swung Ellis up on his back, recognising that her shorter legs aren't able to keep up with the others, and he's letting her navigate him around the make-shift soccer field. They're both grinning wildly, and Meredith's impressed that Andrew doesn't even look like he's breaking a sweat, even in this heat. There's a cry as Zola manages to score a goal, and everyone runs around in mad celebration before starting again.

Meredith attempts a smile. "Yeah, they are," she nods. She can tell that Maggie's studying at her, trying to find the cracks in her armour. Meredith distracts herself by fishing in her bag for a bottle of water, and taking a quick sip. 

They sit in silence for long moment, the only sounds being the shouts and laughter, and the slightly quieter thrum of the cicadas, rhythmic and melodic.

The quiet doesn't last.

"He's really great with your kids," Maggie says, her voice barely above a murmur. Even though they spent most of their lives apart, not knowing of the other's existence, they're still adept at reading each other. Meredith knows that Maggie's bearing down on the truth.

Because she's right. Andrew is _great_ with her kids. He'd won them over with such ease and calm that Meredith had thought it couldn't possibly last, that a storm must be coming. But it hadn't. Any fears she had about bringing him into the fold of her children's lives had been completely unfounded, because he'd proven to be reliable and kind and patient and all in all, pretty much perfect in handling whatever they throw at him.

She's happy about that - of course she is. She knows that she's incredibly lucky that it has worked out this way. It could've so easily been much much harder, and so she's grateful everyday that's she's found someone like Andrew, someone who has taken on such a challenge without even blinking an eye. 

And yet, on days like today, it does hurt her heart a little. On days like today, she thinks of all those little milestones that Derek never got to share with his own children. She knows he would've loved days like this, would've been out there too, running around, kicking a ball, and having the time of his life. All Meredith can think about is that it should've been Derek who was teaching Bailey to ride a bike. 

It's not Andrew's fault, of course. And she's not mad at him for doing what Derek can't. Besides, she knows if she were to explain how she was feeling to him, that he would understand. But she doesn't want to squash his joy either, because she sees how Andrew shares in her children's successes. It's not fair of her to take that away from him just because she's having a moment - getting lost in what could have been, but never will be.

So because of all that, she doesn't want to share of these thoughts. They feel too personal, too _hers_ , and so she's doing the next best thing, which is trying to collect herself and pushing all those emotions down and down until they are out of sight and out of mind.

"Mere?" Maggie's looking over at her, and there's concern etched across her brow, even if her eyes are hidden by her glasses. 

"I'm fine," she replies hastily, answering the unspoken question first. "And yes, he's great. They... adore him."

Right now, she doesn't want to say the word _love_ , but the truth is that her kids do love Andrew, and on any other day, it wouldn't upset her at all. In fact, on a normal day, it makes her proud and happy that they have someone like him in their lives. He's someone they look up to, someone who loves them back, and what more could she really ask for?

But today she's not quite there.

"You're thinking about Derek," Maggie says flatly, and it's not a question at all, just a plain statement of fact. And as much as she doesn't know if she can find the words to talk about it, Meredith feels a sense of relief that she doesn't have to try and hide it any more.

"Yes," she breathes, pressing her fingertips to her brow bone, like she's trying to hold off a threatening headache. "I know that's unfair."

The truth is she does feel guilty sometimes, for wishing Derek could have the memories that Andrew is creating with her children. So much was taken from them, from her, and that feeling doesn't seem to ever go away, even if it has lessened over time. But at the same time, she can no longer imagine a life without Andrew in it, and it's a thought that terrifies her as much as pleases her.

Maggie reaches out for her hand, and squeezes it. It's a comfort, and Meredith feels the knots of tension that have settled in her shoulders release somewhat. "It's okay to miss Derek. It's okay to wish that he could see his children grow up. But it's also okay to be happy with Andrew. And you know that Andrew would understand all of this if you explained it to him."

Meredith knows Maggie is right. Andrew's never been anything less than understanding on that front, and he's never tried to take Derek's place - not for her, or her children. He's just separate, just himself: caring and honest, and open to loving her and her family in his own unique way. He's created something new in her heart and life, something she never thought she'd have, and it's just that sometimes she struggles to admit that perhaps there is room in her life for both him and her memories of Derek to co-exist.

"I know," she replies, squeezing Maggie's hand in return. "I know he would understand, that he _does_ understand. And I'm so happy that the children have him in their life. They're very attached to him."

Maggie gently bumps her shoulder against Meredith's. "They aren't the only ones. _You're_ very attached to him," she teases, and Meredith feels the cloud on her heart lift a little at this truth. Because she knows she's more than just very attached to Andrew. She's in love with him. This isn't news, of course. They've said the words so many times now that she's lost count. 

"I am," she admits, and she knows she's starting to smile as she says it. "But you know me, I'm not great at trusting things when they're good."

Maggie sends a look of acknowledgement her way, sympathy evident. "I know. But do you have a reason not to trust _him_?"

Not trusting Andrew isn't the problem here, she knows. The real problem is that Meredith trusts him too much - she trusts him when he says he loves her and that he'll never leave her. But she trusted Derek with the same, and then looked what happened. They'd made promises to each other, and yet she still ended up alone at his bedside, watching his last breath sink out of him. 

Meredith pushes down the memory and answers Maggie's question with another question. "Can I tell you something?"

Maggie frowns before nodding quickly. "Of course. I'm here."

The kids are still playing, and Meredith can see that Andrew's now put Ellis down and is standing off on the sidelines just watching on. Even from this distance she can see the happiness in his eyes, the way that he looks totally at peace with the world, like he has everything he needs right in front of him. There's a quick moment when he glances over at her, and sees her staring across. The smile he gives her is broad and full, and even now, Meredith's heart still skips a beat when he looks at her like that. 

She turns back to Maggie. "I was looking for my keys the other day, before work. I couldn't find them, I'd looked everywhere and I was going to be late. So I thought I'd just borrow Andrew's keys. He always keeps them in the pocket of his jacket."

Meredith knows this change of tangent is confusing Maggie, judging by the expression on her face, but continues anyway. "So, I was looking in his jacket pocket and I found something."

Maggie's face turns from puzzlement to concern. Meredith knows she's dragging this out more than she needs to, but she's finding it hard to spit out the rest of the words.

Finally, Maggie loses patience. "C'mon, Mere! What was it?"

Meredith takes a deep breath, and lets it out. "It was a ring, Maggie. An engagement ring."


	9. anchor me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Andrew has to take care of Meredith, and she is being stubborn about it

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay between fulfilling prompts. I should have a little bit more time now, and am hoping to write about one a week now - alongside my [multi-chapter fic](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19837549/chapters/46974214). Big goals!
> 
> If you have sent me a prompt and I haven't filled it yet, don't worry. It's on my list somewhere. I have about ten sitting in my inbox, so it is just going to take me a little time. And I tend to write them in no particular order. But feel free to send me more [via tumblr](https://cartoon-heart.tumblr.com/ask) if you want.
> 
> To the anon who requested this, I hope you like it! I'd love to hear what you think. 
> 
> All mistakes are my own.
> 
> Title from ["Anchor Me" by The Muttonbirds](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kPIhhqM4b4s)

"I'm fine."

"You're not fine," his voice insists. Since when had Andrew's voice been so annoying? She swats at him, and misses by a mile, her arm too heavy to make the distance. 

He stares at her, a lopsided grin gracing his features. She takes it back, his voice isn't annoying. It's just loud and too much for her throbbing head. 

She sighs and closes her eyes again. "I just need a quick nap," she says, rolling over on the uncomfortable on-call room mattress, now facing the wall. Meredith wills the world to slide away and leave her be. That includes him. She feels uncharacteristically warm, and tries to manoeuvre her aching arms around herself to pull her scrub top over her head.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," Meredith hears him say from somewhere in the back of her mind. His weight sinks down onto the bed next to her, and she can feel the heat of his skin from here. It's too much, she's already burning up. "Keep your clothes on, Mere."

"It's too hot in here," she says, burrowing her face into the scratchy pillow. It smells like antiseptic and the scent causes a wave of nausea to roll through her.

She feels his hand pressing against the clammy skin of her forehead. She tries to brush him off, but he's too insistent. 

"Mere, you've got a fever." There's worry laced in his voice, and she feels him smooth the hair back off her temples. 

She huffs at him, rolling onto her back and opening her eyes. He's leaning over her, all handsome and concerned, and really, it's unnecessary, she thinks. He's overreacting.

"You're overreacting," she points out, wishing like anything she could be dunked in a cold bath right now. It's the weather, she thinks. It's unseasonably hot.

He frowns at her. Everything about his expression is serious, and although she's grown to know every line and angle of his face, this look seems to be something quite new.

Andrew sighs, deep and low. His exhale disturbs the air around her, and she enjoys the momentary coolness that hits her face before the heat rises again. "C'mon," he says eventually, the palm of his hand sliding underneath her shoulder, lifting her body away from the bed. Her head swims with the motion. "I'm taking you home."

She grunts, but lets him move her. His bedside manner was always impeccable, even from his days as an intern. Meredith has enough energy to swing her legs off the side of the bed. All her limbs feel like dead weights, just hanging there, uselessly. 

"I have surgery," she protests, even though the idea of standing for any period of time is clearly out of the question. Meredith knows she's being stubborn. She's not even sure why. She's just so used to getting on with things, and so Andrew's consideration feels like a burden she doesn't want.

He chuckles at her, despite the circumstances. "That's clearly not happening," he responds firmly, his hand now making slow circles on her upper back. Even his touch feels like fire, and not in the usual good way.

"You're not the boss of me," she mutters, and realises too late that it's something Bailey had said to her last week when she'd insisted he put away his toys. But that doesn't stop her from continuing. "If anything, I'm the boss of _you_."

There's a snort of laughter from beside her, and she can feel the bed shaking a little from the motion. The nausea rises again. 

"Not today, you're not," Andrew retorts, but she can hear the smile in words. "Now, up you get."

Before Meredith can protest, he's pulling her to her feet and wrapping an arm gently around her shoulders. She sinks into his bulk, his warmth almost too much for her to bear, but having no choice - her limbs are too weak to operate on their own without his support. 

Her own body feels totally unfamiliar to her. In fact, Meredith feels betrayed that it's letting her down right now. "I can do it myself," she says, as she tries to wobble out of his embrace and towards the door. But his grip is firm, and he stays in step beside her as she stumbles forwards.

"I'm sure you can," he's saying, as he reaches for the door handle. "But you don't have to."

\---

Somehow they are home. Somehow she's in bed. She doesn't really remember all that much in between. She remembers staring at his profile as he sat behind the wheel of her car, the city zooming by behind his head. There had been goosebumps on his forearms from the blast of the air conditioning. He'd turned it on as soon as he'd placed her in the passenger seat, and the violent press of cool air on her skin had felt like sweet relief.

She doesn't remember how they had collected her things from the attending's lounge or how she'd made it up the stairs in her own house. But somehow both of those events had happened, and she's none the wiser.

All she wants to do is lie still, not move - but at the same time, her body aches so dreadfully that even the pressure of the mattress underneath her feels like too much. 

She hears his footsteps coming up the stairs, down the hall. His familiar tread feels so commonplace to her now, like she can't imagine the space without him in it. They keep up appearances that he hasn't moved in - he still has his apartment across town, even though she's sure he hasn't seen the inside of it for at least the last three weeks. Really, it's something they should talk about.

Her eyes are closed, so instead she only hears his movements: the creak of her bedroom door, the shuffle of his feet on the floor, the sound of objects being placed on her bedside table.

"Mere, sit up." His voice is soft and kind, and so it is for this reason only that she obeys, half alert and half not. She feels two tablets being placed in one of her hands, and an ice cold glass of water in the other. The condensation on the outside of the glass feels heavenly. She wants to press it to her burning forehead. "Are you okay to take those?" 

She nods, and swallows them down, the water quenching her parched throat. She creaks open an eye and sees him standing over her. He's still in his scrubs and its jarring to see him dressed like that in her bedroom - _their_ bedroom. It feels out of place for a number of reasons.

"Thank you," she croaks, her voice threadier than she intends it to be. Something in her still wants to insist that she doesn't need his help even though it's become increasingly apparent that they are well past that.

"Can I get you anything else?" he asks, as he takes the half empty glass from her and slides it onto the table beside her. 

She shakes her head, and immediately regrets it. A throb pulses through her temples, and her eyes flutter shut again, trying to close the pain out. She knows that she must be wincing. His hands instantly find her shoulders, as he guides her back towards the pillows. "No," she answers, after a moment, once the ache has subsided. "I'm fine. It's not that bad."

There's no laughter from him this time, no sound at all. She risks opening her eyes again, only to see the worry etched over his face. His eyes are creased with concern, and as always, there are depths to them that she can never quite reach of the bottom of. They always manage to say so much without him saying anything at all.

He lowers himself to the edge of the bed, and sits cautiously next to her. He makes a show of arranging the sheets around her. He doesn't quite meet her eye until he does.

"It's okay not to be fine, you know," he murmurs, moving on to busy himself with arranging the pillow beneath her head, and then smoothing the damp tendrils of hair off her face. "You don't have to go through anything alone anymore."

Andrew utters it calmly, but even in her state, Meredith knows what he's really saying. There's no accusation or demand in his voice. He's not berating her for her persistent grip on the idea that she has to do everything, go through everything, in solitude. She knows she's gotten good at it: the idea of relying on herself, of not needing anyone. And so although he's been chipping away at it, slowly and insistently over all these months, even Andrew knows it's a habit that she can't easily shake.

So she knows he's not mad. He's just reminding her. 

And she's grateful. Truly she is.

"I know," she sighs, and reaches out to grab his hand in hers. Meredith squeezes it as tightly as she can, and she feels his gentle reciprocation.

He makes a move to rise and leave. 

"No. Stay." Her voice is quiet, but it's enough to stop him in his tracks. She can see the softness in his expression when he looks at her, something she's never quite been able to get over. "At least until I fall asleep."

"Okay," he nods, his tone warm like honey. He sits back down beside her. "I'll be here."


	10. in the path of a lighting bolt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "Andrew meeting Cristina in the most awkward way possible -- Cristina leaping into Meredith's bed while he's in it and they're so happy to see each other that they kind of forget that he's there."
> 
> Title from ["Lightning Bolt" by Jake Bugg.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xCiQXsvPr1M)

It's the sudden stab of an elbow hitting him straight in the ribs that jars him awake. Even without opening his eyes, Andrew knows it's early. He'd rolled into bed late last night, drained from hours on his feet, with a back ache that was particularly vicious. It had been a relief to curl up next to Meredith, knowing that they had nowhere to be the next day. 

The elbow feels too energetic for Meredith to be the source. She's not much of a morning person, and she knows that he's not either. He suspects it's one of the kids, although with his eyes closed, Andrew can't tell which one. It isn't common to be woken this way, although it's certainly not unheard of either, and it's just one of those things that Andrew's grown happily accustomed to nowadays.

Either way, his bones are too tired to react much. The bed is shaking with the weight of the new arrival, all enthusiasm and with way too much activity for this time of day. He can't hear anything from Meredith on the other side of the bed, so as groggy as he still is, Andrew is contemplating the kindness of letting her sleep on and taking whichever child it is downstairs for breakfast. But instead, moments later, he hears his girlfriend shriek.

"What?! What are you doing here?! I thought you weren't flying in until next week?"

"Surprise! I flew in early. Thought I'd catch you unawares and boy did I-" It's a female voice that Andrew doesn't recognise.

He hears Meredith's giggle. "Shut up! Do you really still have a key to my house?"

"Uh, Mere, of _course_ I still have a key. You never know when it might come in handy." 

There's more jostling, and Andrew feels another body part - maybe a knee, connect with his upper back. He's slowly being pushed off the side of the bed by someone who is unnaturally strong. He figures now is probably a good time to make himself known.

He rolls over, and pries open one eye, heavy and still laden with sleep. All he can see a pair of jeans and a mass of dark hair, and Meredith entwined in this other woman's arms, grinning like a maniac.

"Uhh, morning?" he croaks, trying not to encroach, even though it's his - or at close to his - bed that is being disturbed by this stranger.

They pay no attention to him. Mostly there's just a lot more laughing and hugging, and Andrew's sure that Meredith's eyes are a bit glassy with emotion, and so he gives it another minute before he tries again.

"Hello?" 

They finally stop and notice him, and Andrew gets a glimpse of the interloper. He knows who it is instantly, even though they've never met.

"Cristina Yang?" Andrew wishes this introduction was taking place in a more traditional setting - or at the very least, with everyone standing upright, and him more than partially dressed. But he's learnt by now that nothing in Meredith's life is really all that traditional, and so he's not sure why he expected this to be.

Either way, here he is, barely awake, hair askew, meeting his girlfriend's best friend in the world for the very first time - in his and Meredith's shared bed. But he seems to be the only one bothered by the oddity of the location and situation. He immediately gets the impression that Cristina has spent a fair amount of time in this bed over the years too.

Cristina whips her head around and stares at him over her shoulder. All Andrew can take in is her wild mane of hair, and Meredith's smiling face just beyond that. The bed covers have slipped down with all the movement, and so he makes a woeful attempt to tug them higher up his bare chest, if only to maintain some sense of dignity. The motion causes Cristina to rake her eyes up and down him approvingly. 

"The Italian, I presume?" 

Andrew knows he's now blushing. He's about to answer, when he realises that Cristina's not addressing him at all. She's turned back to Meredith. It's a little strange to be spoken about as if he's invisible, but he has a feeling he's going to have to get used to it pretty quickly.

"Yeah," he hears his girlfriend drawl, and even though he now can't see her face from where he is, he can hear the smile in her voice. 

"God, you didn't tell me that he looks like a freakin' underwear model, Mere," Cristina is saying, still with her back to him. "You just said he was hot."

He'd vaguely assumed that Meredith had told Cristina about his existence, if only from his one-sided understanding of their friendship and the important place it sat in Meredith's life. That said, it's odd to now be privy to what his girlfriend says about him when he's not around. Part of Andrew wants to save face and protest the objectification, but secretly it's hard to not feel good about the idea that Meredith's been complimentary about him. He's already thinking of all the ways to tease her about it later.

"Cristina!" Meredith's scolding is half shock, half laughter.

"Yeah, yeah, and all the other sappy stuff, I know." Cristina waves a hand around dismissively, but Andrew's curiosity is piqued by her words. What exactly _has_ Meredith been saying about him? Regardless, it's a question for a much later time. "I'm just leading with the headline here, Mere. I can now totally see why you were willing to stoop to dating a resident."

Things are getting to the point where Andrew feels he needs to interject. "Excuse me?" He's trying to both sit up and retain some modesty, but it's extremely difficult now that Cristina is sitting on top of the bed covers like a dead weight.

She twists back to look at him again. "It's a compliment," she says plainly, face totally deadpan. Andrew's already struggling to figure out if she's mocking him, and so he just decides to go with it.

"Uh, thanks?"

This seems to do the trick, because she gives him a short nod of approval, before turning back to Meredith again. She's asking after Alex, and so Andrew decides to take this moment as a means of escape. He slides out from under the covers, pulling some sweatpants on over his boxers and opens a dresser drawer to find a clean t-shirt.

He senses a pause in the conversation and turns around to look over, only to find both women staring intently at him from the bed. He holds the t-shirt defensively in front of his body like a shield. Because sure, he recognises the expression in Meredith's eyes. It's one that really makes him wish they were alone right now. But they're not. They are very definitely not.

"Oh c'mon, Dr. De-licious - don't be shy!" Cristina barks, before rolling her head back in laughter. Her shoulders shake with mirth, and Andrew thinks he'll probably grow to absolutely adore her once he gets the chance to ease into this.

He's grateful at least to Meredith, who hits her friend playfully on the arm. "Oh my god, Cristina! _Stop_." She shoots him a sympathetic look, and Andrew shrugs good-naturedly. Honestly, it's fine, the teasing. It's just an adjustment coming from someone he's literally just met. He can see what Meredith meant about Cristina's boldness.

Nevertheless, he quickly throws on his t-shirt, and smiles broadly, to show he's not bothered by the comments. "I'm... uh, going to go downstairs and make some breakfast. I'll leave you to it. I'll call you when it's ready."

He makes a swift exit, feeling two sets of eyes on his back as he leaves the room. He's barely out the door before he hears Cristina again.

"Mere, I can totally see why you love him. He's even _house-trained_."

The fact that Meredith loves him isn't new information to him, of course. They'd jumped that hurdle a while ago now. But there's something about Cristina knowing it too that makes him grin to himself.

He hears Meredith's voice ring out. "Seriously, Cristina! " As he walks down the stairs, the noise from the bedroom can only described as _cackling_.


	11. pulling out the hands of time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Lexie and Andrew

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know if this was quite what was in mind when the prompt was sent to me on tumblr, but I hope that person likes it nevertheless!
> 
> Beta by the wonderful [KatieWho](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KatieWho/pseuds/KatieWho) as ever. And special thanks to [sentichefuoripiove](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sentichefuoripiove/pseuds/sentichefuoripiove) for encouraging me to just post it even though I'm not super happy with it.
> 
> Title from ["Change Your Mind" by Jack Vallier](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4yUcntavVbI).

"Tell me about your sister," he says one day, out of the blue.

"What? Maggie?" She's in the middle of folding up millions of pairs of tiny socks and his request has thrown her. What does he need to know about Maggie? If anything, he knows a little bit too _much_ about Maggie for her liking. "Or do you mean Amelia?"

"No, Mere. I mean... well, I mean Lexie." His eyes watch her closely from his seat at the kitchen table, examining her reaction. 

The name fills her with a chill, like a flurry of ice water has just been pushed into her veins. It's still hard to think about Lexie, even after all these years. But of course he knows about her, or at least, knows _of_ her. Her name is written all over his place of employment, and he's more than aware of why that is, even if they've never really discussed it.

"Really?"

"Yeah, only... only if you want to. I don't want to force you if it's too hard. I mean, of course it's hard. Arizona talked about it sometimes - the... crash." Andrew's fumbling over his words now, in that way that he does when he feels awkward. "But... Lexie, you never mention her. There are photos of her everywhere, but you don't really talk about her."

There's a lump in her throat that's growing exponentially by the minute. Her hands are furiously still matching socks, if only to give her something to do. Meredith doesn't want to shut herself off from him, but her auto-pilot has kicked in and it's taking everything in her power not to roll with it. "I'm not sure I can."

"That's fine, of course," he replies hastily, shaking his head. Andrew already looks like he's reprimanding himself for what is actually a perfectly reasonable question given the stage of their relationship, given that they're practically _living_ together at this point.

She's not used to having to talk about all this stuff. And it's not that he forces her too - he doesn't. But being with him is like living out loud - his feelings are on full volume pretty much all of the time. She's not sure that Andrew could bottle up any feelings for very long, even if he tried. Eventually it all spills out of him. It's a character trait that can annoy her in others, but somehow doesn't bother her in him. Sure, it had taken some getting used to, learning to absorb all that emotional information all the time. But she finds that his openness has led her to slowly examine her own. It seems less daunting to share things with him when she knows how seriously he takes it all. Still, old habits die hard. She's still learning. But she wants to try.

Giving up on the laundry, Meredith circles around and sits down next to him at the kitchen table. His body immediately twists so he's facing her, his knees moving to press against the outside of her thigh. Even that slight touch calms her a bit. She takes a breath. "I... I miss her. And it's hard to talk about her. Because I wasn't always the best sister to her, certainly not at the start. So it just reminds me of my failings sometimes." She can't quite meet his eye when she says it, and instead stares straight ahead to some vague spot on the far kitchen wall.

"Families are complicated," he says softly, placing his hand over hers and giving it a squeeze. His tone isn't judgemental. All she hears is acceptance in his voice. She forgets sometimes that Andrew understands complicated families too. 

"Yeah," she sighs, risking a glance over at him, and seeing only empathy in his expression. "But, I think she would've liked you."

"Really?" He looks pleased at the thought. He may seem confident, but Meredith knows how important it's been to Andrew to get the approval of the people in her life. And even though he'll never know Lexie, Meredith does think they're alike in a lot of ways, that they would have been great friends.

"She liked pretty much everyone though, so don't get too cocky," Meredith teases, glad to be able to lighten the mood a bit, even just for a second. 

Andrew senses that's what she needs too. So he splays his hand out across his chest, feigning injury at her words. "Ouch. I can see why your interns used to call you _Medusa_."

Meredith reaches out to hit him playfully on the shoulder, laughing, despite herself. Medusa, _god_. She hasn't heard that in a while. "Who told you I used to be called that?!" 

He smiles slyly, while simultaneously trying to dodge her blow. "I'm not going to reveal my sources!" 

"It was Jo," she says quickly. The most obvious answer is usually always right.

He heaves a weighted sigh, his secret already exposed. "Yes, fine - It was Jo. It's just as well I don't have any secrets from you, Mere. I don't think I'd ever be able to keep them long."

That reminds her of Lexie too. The way she'd suddenly burst open with feelings, like everything in her mind had somehow bubbled over to the point of no return. Andrew's kind of the same, when the moment strikes him. He's not one for doing things by halves, not one for leaving things unsaid. Just like he's never satisfied with simply telling Meredith that he loves her - instead he almost always wants to tell her the reasons why, like she might check his workings someday. 

Silence falls over them, broken only by the sound of the cicadas chirping outside. Meredith's eyes scan her kitchen, thinking of all the people who have lived here, who have left or moved on or died. It's like a shrine to her past, this house, this room. But here she is now, with new memories, new people. And it's fine. It's good. But she wonders sometimes how things could've been different.

"Lexie would've been an attending by now", she muses after a moment. She feels Andrew's attention on her again, out of the corner of her eye. "But she never even got to... I don't know, pick her speciality, torture interns - except, no, she would never have tortured her interns. She was too nice for that."

"Were you alike? You and Lexie?" he asks quietly. The air around them has stilled, like the world has been put on pause.

Meredith contemplates the question, before finding what she feels is the honest answer, and turns to him. "Not really. We shared a father, but we had very different upbringings, different outlooks on life."

Andrew looks at her quizzically, the little crease in his forehead becoming more pronounced. "How so?"

Meredith tries to think of how to put it carefully, without opening up the vortex that is her messed up childhood. She's touched upon it with Andrew before, but she's never really gone too deep. Of late, it feels like she wants to build a wall around that part of her life. Maybe that's been since Thatcher died - it's hard for her to say for sure. "I guess, she was just... lighter. More hopeful. More like you."

He chuckles, leaning even further forward in his seat, knees pressing more firmly against her leg. "Are you saying that I'm light and hopeful? You've seen me after back to back shifts, right?"

She has, and it honestly isn't that bad. He's being self-depreciating, of course. Mostly the lack of sleep just makes him placid, and twice as hungry as usual. She always makes sure there's food waiting on those nights. "You know what I mean," she scolds. "I'm dark and twisty, and she was light and... not twisty."

"Is that the official medical diagnosis?"

She rolls her eyes at him, and moves a hand down to grasp the firm expanse of his thigh. "Don't be glib, Dr. DeLuca."

"I would never," he grins back, before turning serious again. His head tilts in that way he has, a sign that he's taking everything in. "Tell me more."

The truth is that when she thinks about Lexie, it is all so tied up with how everything ended. The plane, the woods, the cold. The way she had cried until there was no more air in her lungs. The way Thatcher had looked at the funeral. It had come to outweigh the earlier, happier times. That's partly why she keeps the photos around - if only to try and force herself to remember the good things, to keep the bad at bay. 

"She... she was so smart. She had a photographic memory, actually. Alex used to call her 'Lexipedia', which she hated. They dated, by the way. Her and Alex. Although, I'm not sure I would call it dating. Alex wasn't so great at dating back in those days."

"Alex slept with your sister?" 

She shrugs. "Well, we were all younger and more stupid then. And she dated Jackson, actually. For a while." 

"Seriously?" If Andrew's eyebrows go any higher they'll be in his hairline.

"Yeah, well, we all knew it was only ever Mark for her, but they never could quite... get their timing right."

"Mark? You mean Mark Sloan? Sofia's dad?"

Meredith forgets sometimes that Andrew and Arizona were close. After all, he'd been there at Sofia's custody hearing too, all those years ago - back when he wasn't anyone to her, an intern barely worth her notice, and love was the farthest thing from her mind. "Yeah. He... he died too. In the crash. Well, after the crash. You probably know that. Arizona probably told you."

He nods. "Yeah, she did. So your sister and Mark Sloan? They were together?"

"They... loved each other. She was just never as happy with anyone else as with him. But there were obstacles, and they couldn't get past them, as much as they wanted to."

She can tell Andrew wants to ask what those obstacles were, but for some reason he doesn't. He's probably sensing that she's given up a lot for one evening, is nearing her limit. "That's sad," he says finally, and she feels the squeeze of his hand again. 

"Yeah," she sighs, leaning hard against the back of her chair. "Maybe if I'd been a better sister, less wrapped up in my own stuff, I would've been able to help her realise that sometimes you just have to take that leap, push through those obstacles, you know? Maybe they could've had more time together if I'd... helped. Maybe she wouldn't have even listened to me. But hindsight is a wonderful thing."

His hand rises to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear, and she feels goosebumps rise in the wake of his fingertips. "Mere, you can't feel bad about that." 

"No, I know, I know. I just... could've encouraged her more. Been more like... you." She glances over at him, and feels her heart swell. She's opened up to him tonight more than she thought she could, more than she intended to. He has a way of making her do that somehow, without letting her break apart altogether.

"Me?" His head tilts again.

"Yeah, you're good with that stuff. Talking, feelings." She draws out the last words, looking for a way to take the gravity out of them. 

As ever, Andrew picks up on her shift in tone. "Talking? Feelings?" He looks bemused.

"You know what I mean," she replies wryly, with an edge of mocking.

"Oh, is that all I'm good for? Is that why you keep me around?" He's teasing her again. In one smooth motion, he turns her in her chair so that she's facing him, knees now trapped between his own. Ah, she thinks, this feels like more familiar ground for them.

She stares him down, but there's no seriousness in it. "Well, you're okay at cooking." His eyebrow raises. "You're also useful for reaching things off high shelves." She sees his mouth quirk upwards at that one. "You're not _terrible_ to look at," she finishes, smiling sweetly.

"Ahh, Medusa. You're such a charmer," he murmurs, voice low and coming incrementally closer. 

She laughs then, because he always seems to know exactly what to say to unlock that part of her. He's so eager to connect, to please. That in itself is like Lexie too. 

Saying nothing, she smiles as she leans towards him, slowly crawling her hands up his thighs before raising herself from her seat. Her mouth inches closer to his, and they both know exactly where this is going. In one swift movement, he tugs her onto his lap, an arm firm around her lower back. He arches his neck to look up at her, perched above him. He positively shines with love. 

"Well," Meredith says finally, as her fingers reach up and run through the dark curls at the nape of his neck, and he keens in response. "Takes one to know one."


	12. caught up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Arizona discovers Meredith and Andrew are dating

Meredith might be seeing things. 

Because she's sure she sees a woman that looks just like Arizona Robbins down the end of the corridor, talking to Richard Webber - but it can't be, because Arizona is in New York, saving babies and generally being kickass and smiley and amazing. That's what Arizona Robbins does.

The more likely explanation is that Meredith is seeing things, because she's sleep deprived, and she's at the age where that's not as easy to recover from as it used to be. She's half way through her second coffee and the caffeine is barely making waves, and she's already stifled about three yawns in the last five minutes.

She blames Andrew, even though, really, she's as much the problem as he is. Because at least he tries, bless him, when he comes home at absurd hours. But motherhood and years of being on call has made Meredith a light sleeper, and so as quiet as his movements are, she can always hear him shuffling around in the darkness until he cautiously slides into the bed next to her.

The sensible thing would be for her to try and go back to sleep. But Meredith's never been that sensible, despite a successful career as a surgeon and single mother of three. What she should do is roll over, ignore his presence and let him rest, but even now - months and months in - the novelty of having him there still feels fresh. And so she reaches out for him, without fail, and as soon as her hand connects with his skin, her body roars to life, and that singular touch is never quite enough. 

He can never deny her, of course. Even after back to back shifts, and hours on his feet, he never fails to melt into her kiss, never fails to react to her. They're both as bad as one another really, in the way that they want each other. So she blames him, but she doesn't. It's a thing.

The pattern is familiar. "We should go to sleep," she murmurs against him, as her lips find his in the darkness. Her words are always half-hearted at best - and at worst, a downright lie. Sleep is for the dead, and Andrew is still a revelation that she wants to keep as close to her as possible.

He huffs against her, but his answer is predictable: "We should," he always agrees, voice low and barely above a whisper. Her eyes can barely differentiate him from the shadows in her room, but it hardly matters when he knows how to touch her _just so_. "But do you want me to stop?"

And so that's how they end up here, with Meredith wondering whether lack of sleep is making her hallucinate distant friends, or whether she's accidentally been drinking decaf all morning. This really isn't sustainable, she thinks.

The blonde is heading in her direction, and Meredith squints again. Meanwhile, a presence appears at her shoulder, distracting her. 

"Good morning," he smiles as she glances over at him. Andrew looks less tired than she feels, and Meredith thinks that is incredibly unfair. Sure, he's used to it; his resident's schedule is far more gruelling than hers and he's got youth on his side. Nevertheless, Andrew had been up before her this morning, and he still looks like he's had a restful eight hours, when Meredith knows for the fact he hasn't.

"Dr. DeLuca," she replies, in a way that sounds like a teacher addressing her student, rather than all the other things they are together outside of this hospital. Separating those two worlds isn't the easiest sometimes, because they're only human after all. "How are y-" she starts, but she's not able to finish her question.

"Meredith! Andrew! Hey!" Meredith's head snaps around, and apparently she wasn't seeing things at all. It _is_ Arizona, and she's right _here_. In Seattle, not in New York, and well, it's wonderful, actually.

Meredith barely has time to formulate words before she's engulfed in a hug, and rocked enthusiastically from side to side. Arizona squeezes her tightly before pulling away, and then does the same to Andrew who looks suitably surprised.

"What are you doing here?" Meredith asks finally, after she's had a moment to collect herself. Her smile makes the words curl at the edges, like Arizona's beaming demeanour is contagious. "I didn't know you were coming to Seattle!" 

Arizona shines at them both, all teeth and golden halo of hair. "I'm here to help Alex on a case. It was short notice. Actually, Andrew, I think you're with us. Alex says you're now the go to resident for pediatric cases." Her hand is still on Andrew's arm and Meredith sees her give it a squeeze, before she looks up at him fondly, much in the same way that she used to do with Alex when he was still learning. 

Andrew flushes red, and Meredith can't help the glow of pride that fizzes inside of her. It's clear to everyone but him that peds is where his talent lies, even if he might want to resist the truth out of fear. Of course, he has time to make that decision, but it's clear that Alex is angling for someone to follow in his footsteps - and he's already anointed Andrew in a decision Meredith knows Alex won't have made lightly. "I... um..." he stammers, unclear of how to take the compliment, "I don't know about that... but I think I have to run and get the labs, actually. I-I better get going."

"Wait!" Arizona cries, before Andrew pivots away. "We should catch up properly later, before I leave. It's really only a flying visit but how about a drink at Joe's after work? I need to hear all about residency. And picking your speciality. And you know, life. Whether you're dating anyone, you know, the important stuff."

Andrew's eyes widen, and momentarily flick over to Meredith before turning back to Arizona, who is glowing in her customary way, like she's carried her own personal ray of sunshine with her. 

Meredith registers his awkwardness, the slight bewildered look in his expression. And then it clicks. Because it's becoming clear that, apparently, Arizona doesn't know the situation - doesn't know about _them_. 

Behind Arizona's back, Meredith gives him a pointed stare, and mouths _you never told her?_

"I, uhh..." he stammers again, looking more and more uncomfortable, eyes flicking back and forth between them both. Andrew's a terrible liar, and it's never been more evident than this moment. "I really need to get those labs. But yes, Arizona - I'll... catch you at Joe's later. For sure." He smiles tightly, before making the fastest exit that Meredith's ever seen him make. Arizona seems satisfied nevertheless.

But now suddenly it's her turn. "And Meredith - you're invited too, of course. It's been too long. How are the kids? Sofia talks about Zola all the time. Are you seeing anyone? And what are you working on?"

Meredith's not sure how to answer the flurry of questions that are being thrown in her direction. But really, the real problem is how could they have forgotten to tell Arizona? Or more precisely, how could _Andrew_ have not told her? It seems odd given that Meredith always thought they were close. It's not odd enough that Meredith feels insecure about it, although it's annoying that the thought does cross her mind. It's been six months - shouldn't it have come up?

Even putting that aside, Meredith's not sure she wants to be the one to break the news to Arizona that she and Andrew are dating and everyone forgot to tell her. 

Thankfully, her pager goes off, saving her from the inquisition, and Meredith tries her best not to look relieved. "I'm so sorry, Arizona. I've got to go. But yes, I'll meet you at Joe's tonight. Okay?"

She makes a hasty exit too. Because after this consult, she needs to find a way to speak to her boyfriend.

\---

She corners him after lunch, an hour before he's due to scrub in on Alex's case. Meredith wants to make sure they're on the same page going into tonight - namely that they aren't going to make a mess of telling Arizona any more than they've so clearly made a mess of things already.

"Why didn't you tell her?" The words fly out of her mouth before he's barely two steps through the door. In hindsight, it probably wasn't the best idea to page Andrew to an on call room in the middle of the day. He's arrived looking distinctly hopeful, before he realises that she just wants to talk. 

He takes great pains to close the door behind him, and then leans against it with his arms folded. "I thought _you_ would have told her," he retorts with a frown, a level stare.

Meredith's expression becomes a mirror of his own, as do her words. "Well, I thought _you'd_ have told her."

He tightens his arms across his chest, and gives her a narrow look. "Why me?" There's a hint of bemusement around his mouth, showing that he finds this situation ridiculous rather than altogether too serious. "You've known her longer," he points out, with a nod of his head. And he's right. Meredith has known Arizona for a significantly longer period of time. She'd been at her wedding, for goodness sake. In the same damn plane crash that had cost them both so much. They, by all rights, were close. Meredith hates to admit that his argument holds weight.

She sighs, and mounts a defence anyway. "Well, you _lived_ with her. Your sister dated her." All true, and, she thinks, a reasonable attempt to make him equally as culpable as her for their combined oversight.

"Wait a minute," he says quickly, as his arms unfurl and a hand comes up to hover in midair, like he's grabbing hold of a thought that's just passed by. "Surely you've told Callie? And she would have told Arizona?"

Uh oh. She's been caught. Meredith has the good grace to look sheepish as she shakes her head in the negative. 

She's rewarded with the less-than-subtle arch of one eyebrow, before Andrew pushes himself away from the door and towards her. "Hold up, Mere. Are you saying that you haven't told Callie either?"

With a frustrated groan, she buries her face in her hands. That's it, she's a terrible friend. Probably a terrible girlfriend - because it's becoming increasingly apparent that she's not exactly shared the news of her relationship with Andrew with anyone beyond the hospital walls, apart from, well, Cristina, and her children, obviously. 

Even though she's not looking at him, Meredith can hear the low rumble of his laugh. A moment later she feels the slide of his hands grazing her hips, thumbs tucking themselves underneath the hem of her scrub top to stroke the bare skin there. She eventually lowers her hands and chances a look up at him. Andrew's head tilts as he waits patiently for her to speak.

She fumbles. "I've been busy?" It's a pathetic attempt at protest, but he's already laughing again before she even finishes the words. 

"Busy, huh?" His smile is so wide that she thinks his face might split, and it makes her smile too. "With what, Dr. Grey?" His hands give her hips a pointed squeeze and it's hard to ignore the wave of desire that flares in her veins. She knows all too well what has kept her preoccupied all these months, what exactly has stolen her attention. His lips part and she tries not to notice how close he is. At the same time Meredith is trying to remember if he locked the door.

No, no. They can't right now. She presses her hands to his chest, gently pushing some distance between them. Some, but not too much. "Stop distracting me," she scolds, and his eyebrow goes again. "We need to focus. We need to figure out how tell her."

Meredith can see the wheels churning in his mind. After a moment, he grins. A beat. "We're both bad friends, aren't we?"

She can't argue with that.

\---

Yes, they might be bad friends, but they're bad friends who are now resolved to do the right thing.

"Stop it," Meredith says, as she shrugs Andrew's arm off from around her shoulder as they approach the entrance to Joe's. "We're not just walking in there like that and waiting for her to figure it out."

Andrew seems unperturbed at her tone. He's used to her directness by now and can gives as good as he gets when the mood strikes him. "Why not? You have to admit, it would be easier." On this occasion, he's teasing her, but she can sense a touch of nerves about him that she's gotten good at detecting over these past few months. It's subtle, but it's there.

He's right, it would be easier. No big announcements, and just walk in there behaving like what they are - a couple. But Meredith's determined to be an adult about this. Besides, it's not _that_ much of a big deal, she thinks. After all, Arizona is Arizona, and Meredith can't imagine anything but forgiveness and joy in response to what they're about to tell her. 

She's about to respond, but they're already through the entrance of the bar. And it only takes a few seconds more for Meredith to spot Arizona and Alex at a table against the wall, laughing and talking. She turns back to look at her boyfriend, hovering at her shoulder. "Ready?"

There's a brief brush of his hand against the small of her back, before he nods. "I'll grab some drinks and be right over."

As expected, Meredith is greeted with Arizona's warmness and kind smile, followed by Alex's sardonic grin. Taking off her coat, she asks after their surgery, even though Andrew has already filled her in, and that kills the time until Andrew arrives with her glass of wine, and a whiskey for himself.

"So," Arizona says, as Andrew slides down into the chair next to Meredith and she can feel his foot nudge at her own under the table, "what's new with Meredith Grey? Are you seeing anyone?" Arizona's eyes are wide and focused, and her palms press flat against the tabletop in anticipation. 

"Uhh," Meredith stammers, watching Alex's eyebrows shoot up out of the corner of her eye, "well, actually..." She's not sure why she feels awkward about this, although if she's honest, most of it is just because she feels guilty for being a terrible friend. "The thing is-"

"-we're dating," she hears Andrew interject beside her, and instantly feels his hand reach out to grab her knee like he's trying to anchor himself. "Uhh, Meredith and I, that is. We're... together." Meredith risks a glance over at him, and see the look of anticipation etched on his face. She hopes he can feel the reassurance that she's trying to channel in his direction. 

Arizona cocks her head, and frowns, before holding up a hand in their direction, like a signal to stop. "Whoa, whoa. Wait a second." Her eyes flick back and forth between them both, and Meredith tries to fight the urge to cringe at the scrutiny. Arizona looks genuinely shocked. "I'm sorry... _wh-what_?" 

Meredith takes a breath. "It was a surprise for both of us, really." Her hand seeks Andrew's under the table, still pressed against her knee. His warmth is instantly calming.

"I'm... I'm just... so surprised," Arizona stammers, as she glances back to Alex beside her, who looks as if the only way he could enjoy this more is if he had some popcorn to complete the viewing experience. She turns back to them. "Dating! Wow. That's... wow. Congratulations? For how long?" Her voice rises at the end, and Meredith can't help but seize on the tone of disbelief that sits there. 

There's a squeeze of Andrew's hand against her knee as he answers the question floating in the air. "Six months," he answers, and Meredith knows him well enough to hear the underlying guilt in his tone. She feels it too.

Arizona's eyes seem to widen even further, as she stares across the table at them, mouth agape. An awkward silence falls over them, and although Meredith wants to give her time to process this, it's getting a little uncomfortable now.

But it's Alex who breaks the silence, with a hearty snort that falls away into a choked laugh. His shoulders start to shake, and Meredith's about to shoot him daggers until she notices that Arizona's actually laughing too, the kind of laughter that is so intense it's completely silent. Her hand reaches out to grip Alex's shoulder to steady herself, and then finally, the silence is filled with both of their belly laughs.

Andrew looks as bewildered as Meredith feels, even though he also seems amused at the scene before him, can barely contain his own smile. "What the-?"

Alex waves a hand at them, like he's finally noticed their confusion. "Guys, she's _messing_ with you," he says, as Arizona nods her head next to him, slowly trying to bring her laughter into check. "She already knows."

"What!?" Meredith's cry is half shriek, half giggle as she rocks back in her chair. "Oh my _god_."

Arizona wipes a stray tear from the corner of her eye. "Sorry, guys. Alex told me months ago. And I couldn't pass up the opportunity to see the looks on your faces." Her face is pink from exertion but other than that, Meredith can't see a hint of anything other than joy in her expression.

"You're not mad we didn't tell you sooner?" she asks. "Or tell Callie?"

Arizona dismisses them with a wave. "It's fine, it's _fine_. It's just... it's great, guys. I'm really pleased for you both."

Meredith senses rather than sees the weight sink off Andrew's shoulders, and she takes the opportunity to lean into his side for a moment before straightening up again. "Thank you."

There's a soft expression in Arizona's eyes as she stares at them across the table, and Meredith wonders how she and Andrew look to her. The attending and the resident, the tale as old at time, even though Meredith's only known it from the other side before now. But Andrew makes it feel so much easier than it ever did than when it was her own story. Meredith hopes that Arizona - hell, _everyone_ really - can see that they fit, that they _work_ , because that's the truth of it - despite their differences. Meredith chances a look at Andrew, and finds he's already looking at her, and it's ridiculous how good that makes her feel. Her eyes catch on his, and as ever it's hard to look away.

"You both seem really happy," she hears Arizona say, and for once, for once, Meredith's inclined to agree that something in her life is as good as it seems to those outside of herself. Sure, they're not perfect, of course. She hates his motorcycle, and he's bewildered at her lack of cooking skills. He gets impatient, and she's extremely stubborn. But that's nothing, really, in the scheme of all the good things they've found in each other, in how they work together.

"Yeah," she nods, and Meredith wants to look away from him - to address her friend - but she can't quite manage it. It's sappy, she knows, to behave this way. But the way his eyes smile at her, the creases at the corners, is one of her favourite things about him. "Yeah, we are."


	13. far away, so close

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Merluca, post the events of 16x08
> 
> AKA, I had a lot of feelings about the latest episode (AS I'M SURE WE ALL DO)
> 
> Title from ["Stay (Far Away, so Close)" by U2](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gNS1jTQOnCs)

Meredith is minding her own business, just absorbing the fact that she's back at work, back to _cutting_ , when a shadow appears by her right shoulder.

She glances over and isn't surprised to see him there. After all, it had only been a matter of time before they'd end up in the same room together. The hospital was never large enough to avoid those who could cause the most pain. Meredith has never been an exception to that rule. 

He's holding some films in one hand, so she assumes he hasn't intentionally sought her out here. That said, Meredith also knows there are plenty of other places he could've gone on this floor, and so perhaps the fact that he is here, with her, is no coincidence at all. However, now that he's so close, Meredith can sense his doubt with the situation. Because while he may seem okay on the surface to others, Meredith knows Andrew well enough by now to see through the facade. Sure, his hair is perfectly coiffed, and he still looks like he's stepped out of a fashion magazine (if the fashion du jour is light blue surgical scrubs), but Meredith can see the pained expression behind his eyes, the bags underneath, the way he's holding himself so rigidly in her presence.

Clearly she takes too long to say something, because after a moment he sighs, and steps forward to hang his films up on the spare lightbox next to hers. He then returns to his place beside her, close but not close enough for their shoulders to touch. The air in the room feels oppressive and heavy, like it is slowly turning to liquid. His gaze remains fixated on the x-rays in front of him, even though she's sure that - like her now - he can't possibly be taking any of it in.

"Hi?" she says finally, quizzically, because while she might have been snappish with him earlier in front of everyone else, they're alone now and she doesn't need to guard herself in quite the same way. Besides, her heart still does stupid things when he's near her, and that probably isn't going to change any time soon. She's not a robot; she can't just _switch it off_.

His face twitches at her casual opening, a tic in his jaw, but he doesn't return the greeting. But she can tell he's itching to say something, and she doesn't have to wait long.

"I didn't _dump_ you," he hisses in a low tone, expression somehow a crash of hurt and peevishness and also unbearable sadness. While he's now rotated a little into her personal space, Meredith can tell he's trying to hold himself back, like he's not sure he has the right to be close to her anymore. That said, it's not like she doesn't feel it too - the pull, the magnetic tug that seems to want to drag her body closer to his. Her not being attracted to Andrew is _not_ the problem here. 

Meredith takes a breath and turns her focus back to the scans in front of her. Looking at him is stirring up too much, and it's rapidly becoming unhelpful. And truthfully, she's not sure what to do with his words. All weekend she'd felt the blunt side of his absence in her house, in her bed. His declaration and departure from her porch that night didn't mean that Andrew DeLuca was just erased from her life. Reminders of him were still everywhere - a leather jacket hung up in the hall, a pair of shoes by the door, a spare toothbrush in her bathroom. 

Their conversation that evening had left her high and dry. Confused, reflective. It had been an emotional day, and at the end of it all, she just wanted bask in her relief, her happiness. And then Andrew had gone and thrown a wrecking ball through everything. Because like always, he's consistently been the one part of her life that has never seemed to want to fit inside a neat little box. 

The worst part is that she thinks he might be right about her treatment of him, and Meredith doesn't even know where to start with that.

His surprise to see her at the hospital this morning had felt like a gut punch. And so instead of remaining calm and collected, she'd gotten frustrated, taken a jab at him that was probably a little crueller than necessary. It was easier than trying to analyse all the feelings he'd left rippling inside her in his wake. 

She defaults to sharpness again now, twisting her face into an annoyed frown. "It seemed that way to me," she retorts, trying not to notice out of the corner of her eye the way his face falls. 

"I offered you _time_ ," he says in a tone that is a lot more reasonable than she probably deserves. "Given the fact that I'm _in love with you_ , I'm hardly about to _dump_ you, Mere." He huffs quietly, a hint of impatience lingering a little too close to the surface. The sentiment of the words, coupled with the quickness of his temper are an odd match, and something about it makes her want to laugh.

"Okay, okay," she placates, allowing her head to finally turn and look at him properly. He's watching her warily, like he doesn't quite believe her words. There's a loaded pause before she continues. "I'm... I'm sorry." She finds that she truly is. She has no desire to hurt him. 

Her apology seems to smooth the roughness of his edges, and Andrew shoves his hands into his lab coat pockets with a sigh. "Alright. Thank you," he nods, eyes catching on hers in the half light. His face is partially illuminated by the lightboxes surrounding them, and she wants to turn away from his gaze, but something in her can't manage it. "Take all the time you need," he continues after a moment, with renewed resolve. "I mean it. But trust me, Mere. This situation isn't because I don't love you. I think we both know that the real question is whether it applies the other way around."

Meredith's surprised that he's just come out and said it, although she's not sure why she is. One of the first things that she'd ever learnt about Andrew was that he's terrible at holding back his feelings for too long. Everything comes bursting out eventually. And deep down, she's always wanted to be able to meet him halfway on that, even when everything in her nature makes it difficult. Still, she's not sure whether he's now the one trying to get a rise out of her. But this is one thing that she can't, she won't, let lie.

She turns her body towards him now, so that they're facing each other dead on. "That's not fair," she pushes back, wishing she sounds stronger than she does. "You know that isn't the case." She finds a little fierceness deep down, and clings to it.

"Isn't it?" he fires back, and his hands leave his pockets again and clench tightly at his sides. He's a ball of tension; she can see it from the slope of his shoulders to the way he's standing. God, she wants to reach out, touch him, but she feels like that's a line she shouldn't cross, given where they're at right now. He's staring at her with such mournful intensity that she's sure her face must be burning. He continues. "Because if that's the truth of it Mere, if _you don't love me_ , that's fine. But then god, just put me out of my misery now, and we'll be done with it!"

"No!" she snaps, and it's too late, her hands are shoving against his chest - because she's just so _mad_ that he would consider that - that he could think he means so little to her that all the times she's told him she loved him over these past few months had been a complete lie. "That's not the problem here, Andrew!" Her mouth goes dry at the feeling on his name on her tongue, like she's been denying herself of it. It's an intimacy that feels overwhelming right now.

His loud exhale deflates his frame, like a breath he'd been holding for far too long. Meredith can feel the warmth of his body through the palm of her hands, and it's all she can do to not think of how his skin feels. The plains of his body have become second nature to her. 

His low whisper breaks the spell. "Are you sure?" She feels his tentative fingers on her hips, so faint that she could almost have imagined them. Andrew's anxiety is written all over his face, and Meredith hates that she's reduced him to this, to being so uncertain of her feelings. Because ultimately, Meredith wants to resolve this problem between them - doesn't want to begrudge him for standing up for the relationship he desires. What he's asking for is not unreasonable, and Meredith knows that lately she has come up short. Why that's happened, she can't say. It's a more complicated question than she has an answer for right now. 

His fingertips press against her, and she knows they're his silent request for forgiveness for doubting her. It only takes half a second for Meredith to go against her better judgement and step into him. She knows this is hardly making the situation between them clearer - if anything, it is only muddying the waters even more. But despite everything, she is clear on several things: she does love him, and she wants to be able to give him what he needs. She just need to figure out if that's possible.

"Yes," she murmurs softly, and his eyes meet hers again, dark and cloudy and god, she wishes they weren't alone right now, because her willpower is useless against that expression on his face, the one that tells her exactly how much he wants her. "I'm quite sure."

"Okay," he breathes. His hands react a little more boldly now, skating up her sides, grazing her ribcage. As if by instinct, her hands curl against the fabric of his lab coat, tugging him minutely closer even as they both realise that what they're doing the precise thing they shouldn't.

"Okay," she echoes, as her head tilts purposefully back, her lips angling just that tiny bit closer to his. 

His mouth wrenches up in a smile - nothing broad, but it is the most at ease she's seen him look all day. "Dr. Grey, are you trying to seduce me?"

She doesn't answer. She kisses him instead.


	14. this is not the love we've had before (this is something else)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "a fic around Andrew and Meredith in the upcoming episode "Snowblind" (16x15)."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to whoever sent the prompt to me on [tumblr](https://cartoon-heart.tumblr.com/)!
> 
> Not beta-ed so any mistakes are my own.
> 
> Obviously, I have no idea how the episode is going to go - and this fic isn't meant to be what I necessarily think will happen, or want to happen, but here it is anyway!
> 
> Title from ["Life on Earth" by Snow Patrol](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XqYWcp1JH7Y).

"Andrew!" Her voice is lost to the wind, but he's there, _actually_ there, in front of her eyes.

"Open abdominal wound, likely pelvic fracture," he's saying to Bailey as he climbs out the back of the ambulance. The patient is offloaded with swift precision, and Meredith barely pays any mind. All she can focus on is the fact that Andrew's covered in blood, his jacket slick and coated. She feels sick.

But he's moving, he's walking, and so she tries to calm herself. He's okay, he's fine. Well, not _fine_. He's looking the palest she's ever seen him, and he's clutching his wrist to his chest. Something's wrong.

"Andrew," she repeats again, more forcefully, blocking his path. There are snowflakes already dappling his dark hair now that he's outside in the frigid cold. He's trying to hurry after the patient, into the pit, but it's clear he's in no right state to help. 

Her second attempt to get his attention is more successful. "I'm fine," he says irritably. Meredith knows he could easily evade her if he really wanted to, but she can see how shattered he looks. Nevertheless she places her hands either side of sternum, making herself a human barricade. Blood from his jacket gets on her surgical gloves - his blood, the patient's blood. She doesn't know. "I need to get in there," he urges, looking at some point over her shoulder.

"Look at you!" She's halfway to shouting over the noise of the sirens, the general scramble, the howling gale. She doesn't mean it to sound so desperate, but her emotions have been running high ever since he left, and now it's just relief that's propelling her. She doesn't care that he's still mad at her. "You can't help like this. What's wrong with your hand?"

Meredith reaches for his wrist gently - she doesn't know the extent of his injury - but now that he's paying attention to her, now that he's listening, he flinches at her touch. Whether it's from pain or it just being her, Meredith's not sure. But she sees enough to know that he's got a nasty gash across the inside of his palm. 

"Andrew. Your _hand_ ," she pleads, and something about her tone must sink in. He glances down at himself. His hands are his job, his career, his life. He finally seems to understand what she's getting at. For the first time since he stepped down off the ambulance, he meets her eyes. They're dark with turmoil.

"Come on," she says, grabbing at a handful of his bulky jacket. It's wet to the touch, from the snow, the blood. The padding is so thick that she's not even got a grip on him, just his outer layer. But it's enough to tow him behind her and into the ER.

She tries to ignore the frantic voices from trauma one. There's a sea of scrubs already there, and so Meredith knows she's not needed - at least for now. The abdominal wound had looked bad - things won't be easy. Andrew has a look on his face like he knows it too. He's clearly exhausted, but even so, his neck cranes as they walk past, trying to catch a glimpse. 

Meredith leads him to an empty bed - it's as far away as she can get them from the shouting, the urgent tones. She pulls one of the curtains across and leaves the others open. Andrew looks like he needs air, rather than being circled in on all sides. He perches on the edge of the bed, his injured hand cradled in his lap. It's his left hand - he's left handed, something that's always fascinated her - and it's so bad that there's blood dripping on the floor. She pushes the rising panic in her chest down once more.

"Lie back," she instructs. Andrew stares at her with tension in his jaw, so still that she's not even sure he's breathing. Meredith can tell he wants to say something, even though he remains quiet. Nevertheless, he follows her order. His boots are wet from the slush outside, and they leave a damp imprint on the sheet. His feet must be freezing. She raises the bed so he's half propped up.

She works calmly, trying to tune out the noise, the rapid beating of her heart. _He's fine, he's fine, he's fine_ , her mind chants, like it's a stuck record. But the melody of it soothes her. Andrew's not been knocked over by a bus, gone down in a plane, been hit by a semi. He's _fine_.

"Why would you go and _do_ that?" It's the question that's been bugging Meredith all day, even though she probably knows the answer. Carina DeLuca had been clear as to why _she_ thought her little brother would risk his life to head out into a blizzard. Meredith wants Carina to be wrong, but knows she probably isn't. Meredith had sensed the truth in her words.

Andrew sighs and fixes his gaze towards the ceiling, anywhere but at her. "Someone had to."

It's no answer at all. "Yes," she finds herself replying impatiently, "but it could have been someone else - someone _trained_. Like Owen, or Teddy or-"

"They have kids, Mer," he snaps, and he lifts his head from the pillow just enough to give her a pointed look. "People who need them."

It's clearly a dig, and his implication makes her mad. Does he think she just sat around all day, _not caring_? Not needing to know if he was okay? She's feeling combative, but Meredith also doesn't want to make this situation worse than she's already made it recently. 

She takes a slow breath, in and out, but despite that, she still can't help herself. "And you're _dispensable_? Is that what you think? You have people who need you too, Andrew." Meredith's pleased with how calm she sounds, but nevertheless doesn't look at him as she says it - keeping her focus on cleaning his wound, swab after swab coming away stained with his blood. It's an oddly intimate act, even despite all the other ways they know each other. 

He's quiet. She can feel his eyes on her for a moment, before his head sinks back down. The next time she glances up his eyes closed. She's not sure what to make of his stubborn silence. Meredith takes a moment to study his face: the dark scoop of eyelashes, the smooth expanse of his forehead, the elegant plains of his nose. Sometimes, at night when he was asleep, she'd study his profile - wonder if he was a statue that had come to life somehow. That feels like a long time ago now.

"Nothing's been damaged, but it's deep enough that you'll need stitches," she says after a few empty minutes. The tender flesh of his palm is raw and still bleeding a little but it looks less angry than before. She's been cradling his hand as she's cleaned, and it's only now that she registers the warmth of his skin against her own. She can see the faint swirls of his fingerprints under the garish ER lights, the pads soft and supple. Even now she knows exactly how they feel pressed to her body.

He finally opens his eyes and looks down at her handiwork. "Thanks," he says, and Meredith doesn't want to hear how begrudging it sounds, even though he probably has every right to his sullenness. "One of the other residents can do them. You don't need to be here." 

It stings that he's so desperate to be out of her presence. And Meredith's not even sure that she has the right to be angry that _he's_ angry. Instead she holds her tongue as best she can. "I want to be," she says simply. The honest truth is that her emotions are like a squall inside of her, swirling and spinning and she can hardly grasp them before they're gone. Quickly, she turn her back on him, to find the suture kit she needs. It gives hers a moment to collect herself. 

"Why?" he says, when she turns back to face him, and the sharpness of it cuts. "You made yourself perfectly clear when you said you weren't sure about us." He's being so belligerent - like a child. She knows he's lashing out at her because he's hurt, but that doesn't mean she doesn't ache from it. It's enough to make her temper flare. 

"That doesn't mean I stopped caring about you! And worrying about you!" Her voice breaks a little and she hates herself for exposing the crack in her armour. He's the one person who seems to know how to find those gaps, and that vulnerability alarms her still. "I'm _furious_ that you would be so cavalier about this, that you would just-"

"-it's not your job to worry about me!"

"-put your own life at risk like that, without a second thought, without even _telling me_ , without even-"

"You can't have it both ways, Meredith! You can't-"

"I've lost too many people, and I can't lose you too!"

"-confuse me like this! You love me, you don't. You miss me, you don't. You want to be with me, you don't. It's not _fair_."

His last word rings out like a shot in the dark. The hurt on his face is pure and unfiltered, hiding nothing anymore. He's pushed himself up on the bed with his free hand, has twisted his body to face hers. He always does that, she realises. In a room he's always turned towards her, like a flower following the sun. 

A sigh heaves from her chest, guilt rippling out with it. "You're right," she nods, and it's not easy for her to acknowledge. "But I never said that any of this, what I've been feeling, makes any sense to me either. And I never said I _didn't love you_ , Andrew. That part is what you wanted to hear in order to... what? Be more mad at me? Trust me, I know I've not been fair to you." 

It's as true as anything she's admitted these past few days. But Andrew looks lost at her confession, like he didn't expect it to come so freely. His chest rises and falls in shallow breaths, and even now, in his eyes, she can see how desperate he is for her.

"I just..." he starts, and then bites his lip, earlier anger somewhat deflated all of a sudden. "I just feel like I'm failing. At being what you need, whatever that might be. I keep trying to figure out what it is that I'm missing; what it is in me that's lacking."

"God! Andrew!" She hates that his thoughts have gone there, that he thinks he is _less than_ in some way. But Meredith's not sure she can solve his insecurities, not when she can hardly articulate her own. "When you left earlier, I felt _sick_... physically sick." Even as she says the words, the same feeling of nausea returns in the pit of her stomach. "And all I could do all day was imagine all the horrible ways that you could get hurt, or..." she reaches out and smooths a fingertip across the pulse point of his wrist, is reassured by its rapid thrum, "-or _worse_. Because, Andrew, I... I do need you. I know that. I'm just... I'm scared. I'm... terrified of being with you." Her voice feels so small for an admission so big.

His eyes trace her face, slowly, warily. Meredith feels exposed under his scrutiny. Eventually his expression softens, and he reaches out for her hand, the one still tracing across his wrist. Their fingers interlock firmly, like something solid and dependable - all the things he's usually always been in her life until recently. "I know," he murmurs. "Me too."

Meredith inherently understands that his fears are very different to hers. They always have been, and perhaps that's why when things got tough, they've struggled to find their feet, struggled to fall into sync. They both want to be what the other needs, and yet there is no way of knowing if that's possible.

"I need to stitch your hand," she whispers, when the air gets too heavy and she feels she can't breathe because of the way he's looking at her. Despite everything, the way her body reacts to him has never changed.

He exhales, a low huff, releasing her hand. "Okay," he agrees, and it's a tiny battle, but his supplication means everything to her in that moment. She has no interest in leaving his side just yet. Meredith still needs the reassurance of his presence, needs to see him moving and breathing and alive. 

"It hurts," he says after a long moment, his voice thick and deep. At first she thinks he means his hand, even though she hasn't started the stitches yet, until she looks up and sees him staring at her. 

"I know," she says with a tight smile. "But it will get better, I promise." The double meaning isn't lost on either of them. And even though she shouldn't, even though now is not the time, she presses her lips against the unscathed flesh beneath his thumb, softly and gently. 

Meredith Grey always keeps her promises.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> feedback, kudos and comments are always appreciated


	15. this is almost overload

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A fic in response to multiple prompts I've received about Meredith and Andrew post the events of 16x14/16x15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've kindly been sent around six or seven different prompts [via tumblr](https://cartoon-heart.tumblr.com/) requesting that I write about Meredith and Andrew after the recent events of 16x14 and 16x15. The prompts all have slight differences, but I knew I wouldn't be able to write something for each individually, so I've written this instead which kind of covers a multitude of sins. I'm sorry I couldn't answer every one specifically, but it just wasn't going to be feasible. I hope you like this one nevertheless!
> 
> Feedback, comment and kudos always welcome. Un-betaed so any mistakes are mine.
> 
> Title from ["Empress" by Snow Patrol.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JCsQeKhrLMM)

"You're a million miles away," he says to her across the restaurant table. There's the quiet sound of motion around them - cutlery against dinnerware, glasses tinkling. 

Meredith gives him a sheepish smile, and hopes it looks apologetic enough. He's almost right. Her mind isn't a million miles away, more like just half way across town. It's been that way since they walked through the door. She doesn't even mean to be distracted - she's actually been looking forward to this, or _trying_ to at least. The whole thing had felt like progress, like it was a step outside of herself and all her recent worries. And yet here she was, scarcely able to give him the barest amount of attention. 

"Is it a patient?" he enquires, a tight frown between his eyebrows. She's not used to how he looks at her still. It's too unreadable to put easily into words. 

She shakes her head. "No," she admits, but doesn't elaborate. She could lie - say it's the kids, or her sisters, but that feels wrong too. "It's nothing, don't worry."

He gives her a long stare, and it's so different than what she's become accustomed to over the past year. She used to know what all the stares meant and now she has to start over again from scratch.

"You're thinking about him," he says plainly after a moment, playing with his spoon, before lining it up neatly against the other utensils in front of him. His tone is calm, even understanding, and Meredith's surprised by that.

He's too close to the mark again, and the fact that he is scares her. It's been a long time since someone has managed to read her like this, not since... well, let's not go there, she thinks. Except it's too late. They're already here.

"Yes," she says quietly, taking a sip of her wine, and letting it wash away the bad taste in her mouth. She's on a date with one man, while thinking about another. It might be fair to put her on record as the worst date in Seattle. "I'm sorry."

"Don't apologise," he says quickly, tripping over himself with reassurance that Meredith's not sure she deserves. "I had a feeling."

"A feeling?"

He laughs to himself, and there are creases around his eyes that tell of the pains she knows only too well. They're the same, but they're different. She's further down the path, mid-way through the race, and he's barely off the mark. "Meredith, why are you here? Really?"

"I-" she starts, before words fail her. The truth would be too cruel to articulate in detail. To forget, to look forward, to ignore the crush of her chest every time she crawls into bed alone. The reasons are endless. She attempts again. "I wanted to... try." It sounds limp, and they both know it.

He smiles at her again, and she's amazed that he's not more... something. "But you're not ready, are you?"

Of course she's not. Deep down, she's always probably known that. It had just been easier to pretend. She _wants_ to be ready, but that seems impossible right now. She's stuck in this limbo where she can't move, can't forget. It's becoming untenable.

"If it's any consolation," he continues before she has a chance to respond, "I'm not sure I am."

"Oh?" she says, unable to mask her surprise. She places her wine glass back down on the table with a hard thud, so forcefully that it's wonder the glass doesn't break. "Really?"

He half winces, half grins. "Maybe I should be, but I'm not. I _want_ to be. But that's not how it works, is it? Grief? Loss?" There's a benign charm in the way that he says it, like it might have less power if doesn't let seriousness take hold.

"No," she agrees. The sentiment strikes a chord deep within her. "It's not."

He continues. "And I appreciate that you wanted to try, really I do. But I think we both know that this isn't want you want either - that there's somewhere else you'd rather be." 

His accent makes it sound so easy, even though her jaw clenches at what he's suggesting. But it's not like the thought hasn't been rolling around in her mind for days and weeks now, the endless loop that never quite lets her breathe, never lets her sleep peacefully. It's the one thing that keeps her in purgatory, like a restless spirit, unable to leave the past behind.

His calm reassurance makes it easier for her to admit it. "You're right," she shrugs, like it is less of a big deal than it clearly is. She settles her hands in her lap to stop them from shaking. "But I'm not sure that I'd be very welcome."

To his credit, he doesn't try and lie to her. "Perhaps not. But I think he's... doing better. He's been getting help. He _seems_ better."

She wonders how he knows so much, but now really doesn't feel like the time to ask. Besides, it's just good to know that the positive changes she's picked up on lately haven't just been confined to her imagination. "I know," she says after a long second, and the words feel like someone is picking at the raw edges of her heart. "I've noticed too."

"Of course you have," His tone is gracious rather than bitter. He takes a sip of his own wine and smiles, pausing to look at her over the glass. "And if it's any help, and I say this as a total bystander, I think he misses you too."

"He said that?" Meredith's not sure she could sound more eager if she tried.

He gives her a wry grin, a cock of the eyebrow. It would be arrogant if he wasn't being so nice about all of this. "Calm down, Grey. Not in so many words. But it's clear that you two are not... done. And even if you weren't hung up on someone else, I've realised that I'm also not ready to throw my hat in the ring. So I'm... playing Cupid, I guess you could say?"

A small laugh escapes her. "How honourable," she replies sardonically, because that feels easier than to reveal the deep well of sincerity that she actually feels towards him for finally bringing this out into the open.

"Shall I get the check?" he says, even though he's already making a gesture at the waiter before she can say another word. Perhaps this is what she's needed all along: someone to see through the pretence and the icy exterior and realise what it is, or _who_ it is, that she needs.

Meredith tips back the last few dregs of wine left in her glass, as if that will settle her frayed nerves. She's tipsy, but nothing more, and she wonders if that's enough to get her across town and to his front door. She feels a little sick all of a sudden.

"You okay, Grey?" he asks brusquely, and it amuses her how quickly he's put her back in the box labelled "friend and colleague", rather than whatever they were attempting here. It's a relief, honestly. Moving on would only ever have worked if they were both ready to - and it's quite clear that they're not.

"I think so." The words come out tight, like they're being strangled before release. Her heart is already beating an unnaturally quick rhythm and she's not even done the hardest part yet.

His face settles in a kind smile. "I'll drive you there," he says, and there's a resolution in his voice that doesn't broker argument. People like them, they need to grab second chances at happiness while they can. And so Meredith feels responsible for the both of them to show that it's possible - that it can be done. They both need the proof for very different reasons.

"Thank you, Cormac," she says after a moment. "I'd appreciate that."

\---

He drops her off on the street outside. "Do you want me to stick around for a bit?" 

Part of her wants to say yes, because she's not sure how this is going to go. But she can't bear the mortifying ordeal of him seeing her in the aftermath should it all go horribly wrong. That's what Uber drivers are for.

She shakes her head as she leans down and into his open window. "No, it's okay."

"Sure," he nods and returns his hands to the steering wheel. "Good luck then."

She stands there and watches his tail lights fade off down the road. The street is otherwise quiet, apart from a light breeze shaking the trees around her. It's not cold, but she shivers anyway. The reality of what she's about to do is dawning on her more and more with every second.

It's been a long time since she's been here. She even remembers the last time, although she hadn't known then that it would be. That's the thing about lasts, she realises. They can happen suddenly and without warning.

The walk to his apartment feels endless, but in reality it is nothing at all. Everything is the same. His name on the buzzer, the curve of the numbers screwed into the door, the scuffed paving stones. Somehow Meredith feels that these things should be different because everything else is different now - her, him, _them_.

She presses the buzzer and holds her breath. This whole time she's assumed he'd be home, mostly because she'd seen him get on his motorcycle this evening as she and Hayes were getting in his car. But maybe he's not home - maybe he's with Carina, or at Joe's or literally _anywhere else_ in the city, and just as she convinces herself that he's out, the door flies open.

This is the closest she's been to him in ages, and already her body feels stretched to its limits. She's been giving him as much of a wide berth at work as she can bear - because she assumed that's what he wanted, and if anything, it had hurt less to keep her distance.

He stares at her blearily from the threshold, eyes blinking themselves awake. His hair is everywhere, a dark mop of coiled curls, and the memory of how he looks when he sleeps is so vivid that Meredith feels like she's been punched in the stomach. It's not even that late, but sleep is a commodity in their line of work, and so she feels guilty for waking him. But at this point, she thinks, her list of regrets is so long that another entry won't make a difference.

"Hi," she says, for the sake of saying _something_ , instead of just staring at him like an idiot.

"Hi," he echoes, hand coming up to rest against the door frame. And that's when it crosses his face, the one thing she needed to see: hope. It's fleeting but it's enough to keep her feet glued to the spot. "What are you doing here?"

"I came to see you." At this point, she's aware the conversation is just a series of formalities. The real test is happening somewhere outside of their words. It's in the way she sways towards him, and in the way he responds in kind. 

"Oh," he breathes out with a kind of reverence she's forgotten he has. God, she's missed this version of Andrew, the one that seems to soften around her. _That_ feels familiar at least, like the old them. "I thought you were out with Hayes?"

Meredith notes the concern in his eyes, understands what he's really asking. He'd clearly seen them in the car park earlier tonight just as she had seen him. "I'm not with Hayes," she replies forcefully, answering his unspoken question more than the actual one. "Definitely not with Hayes."

His hand curls further around the door frame before releasing. "Ahh, okay," he says. His tone is steadily neutral but there's a flicker of brightness in his eyes that feels so known to her. It's not the recent kind, drenched in anger, quick to alight, and for that she's relieved. He steps to one side. "Do you want to come in?"

Her hands twitch with the urge to reach for him. "Yes," she says. "I do."

\--- 

There are a lot of words and a lot of apologies. There are clasped hands, and maybe even some tears. There's a text to Maggie to tuck the kids in and tell them that she'll see them in the morning. There's re-heated pasta at around midnight because Meredith had hardly touched her food at the restaurant.

"I'm scared," she says to him some time later, as she lies sprawled half on top of him on his far too narrow couch. They're both still fully clothed, even though her body protests with every minute that passes. He strokes her hair absent-mindedly.

"Me too," he murmurs, and his chest vibrates against her ear, deep and low, and she feels the truth in his words. "But I'm doing all the things I need to be doing. I'll do whatever needs to be done."

"I know," she answers, and she means it too. Meredith now knows that Andrew is serious about this, that he has no desire to go down this path again if he can prevent it. But she also knows that these things aren't ever so simple - not everything is so easily controlled in life. She's aware of that better than most. 

"I think my therapist got sick of hearing your name in the end," he murmurs into her hair. It's meant to be light hearted, but there's something in the way that his voice catches that makes her realise that he's _embarrassed_. 

"Don't do that," she says quickly before she realises how that may sound, how he might misinterpret it. "Sorry, I don't mean... I mean, you sound ashamed... when you said the word _therapist_. Please... don't be ashamed of getting help, Andrew." She can't look at him as she says it. They've shared many vulnerabilities this evening, but this one feels almost a step too far.

She hears him sigh into the air. "I know. And I'm... I'm not, but also... I am? If that makes sense?" His fingers tuck a strand of hair behind her ear, before trailing gently down her exposed neck. She can tell that the motion calms him. "I just... I never wanted my life to look like this... I-I've looked at my father and felt _furious_ at him for not seeing the truth, for not helping himself, for not _accepting_ help. And yet I've done the exact same thing - hurt those around me, hurt the people I love most..." He swallows, the sound clearly audible in the stillness of his apartment. The word _love_ hangs heavily between them. It's the first time either them have uttered it this evening, and Meredith can't pretend it doesn't mean anything.

Her eyes flicker shut, if only to try and control everything that's racing inside of her. "But you _did_ get help," she points out, her free hand splaying against his chest, moving with the rise and fall of his breath. " _You_ did that, and that's amazing, Andrew. And you should feel _proud_."

He hums noncommittally, and she can tell he's thinking. "It's hard to feel proud," he answers eventually. Meredith knows he means his behaviour, his harsh words, his uncharacteristic moods. "It's hard to think that this was... a part of me this whole time. That all my life there's been something slowly chipping away at me that I couldn't control... couldn't _see_. Mer, I could have blown up my whole life. I almost _did_." He sounds so mournful, and it hurts her heart to hear it, even though she's forgiven him many times over and told him so. "And I guess I've just not quite come to terms with the fact that this will follow me around forever now, even if there are things I can do to help manage it." 

Slowly, she props herself up, and tilts her head to look at him, tucking her chin hard against his breastbone. He stares back at her, and she can see the heaviness that still lingers there, even if she can also see how far he's come. 

"Andrew, we all have things we carry around. Some are small, some are big, some are... earth-shattering lifelong burdens. Everyone has them, even if we can't see them. And this is yours. And that's _okay_. It doesn't change anything for me. You know that, right?" Her hands reaches up to trace a path down his jaw, a sharp protruding angle. He turns his head slightly to nudge her open palm.

"I know that," he echoes softly, lips whispering softly against her skin as he talks. "I'm so grateful for that." Meredith knows her words won't alleviate all of his worries, just like he's never been able to alleviate all of hers. But she can sense the slow release of tension from him, feels his hand tuck against the small of her back, pressing her closer. He feels guilty, she knows, even though he shouldn't. 

His mouth is so close, and it would take nothing at all for her to lean up and close the distance. She's so acutely aware of the fact that he's not even attempted to kiss her this evening, and she's not sure whether she's grateful or disappointed. It's hard to say if there's even been a right moment up until now. But there's still a sense that everything feels too fragile between them still, despite this tentative dance towards reconciliation. On one hand, she wants nothing more than to feel his mouth against hers; the familiar ache of the way he kisses her is a memory that's becoming more and more intrusive by the minute. On the other hand, she's terrified to push him, or to rush them both headlong into something that needs more time for the dust to settle. 

The upside, she notes, is that she recognises the dark look in his eyes, the way he's gazing at her. She can practically see the wheels turning in his head, churning over the same concerns as her own. It's a relief to be able to read him again, to not feel lost at his expressions anymore. As an experiment, she licks her lips, bites the bottom one briefly, and his reaction is immediate - pushing himself upright, bringing her body with him. Their limbs are still entangled, but they're face to face properly now. One of his arms is curled gently around her back, and hers have moved to loop around his neck. Everything about how they fit together is red raw: fresh and visceral on her senses, vivid and overwhelming

"Mer," he says, and his throat sounds hoarse, like he's almost lost the ability to speak. "At the risk of sounding like a kid in middle school, are we...? Are we good?"

She tilts her head, angling her face just slightly closer to his, and hovers there. He has the good grace to look embarrassed at how desperate his question sounds, now that he's put it out there. 

"Andrew, are you asking me if we're going steady?" She tries for faux-seriousness, but fails to smother the smile that creeps from the corners of her mouth. His other hand finds the space on her neck just below her left ear and guides her slightly closer.

"Would you say yes if I was?"

She laughs then, head tipping back momentarily, until she's drawn back to him again. She feels lighter than she has in a long time. She slides her nose against his, breath ghosting against his mouth. "I don't know. Why don't you ask me?"


End file.
